


Space Station 1337

by AcidGreenFlames



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Gen, Organic and robotic gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidGreenFlames/pseuds/AcidGreenFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being sent to Space Station 1337 to retrieve data, the Combaticons discover there is more to the mission then they were told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Station 1337

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ultharkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/gifts).



> AN: As some of you may know that I have taken a break from my normal writing to take part in this year’s gift fic exchange. This was my story. :) 
> 
> Title: Space Station 1337  
> Recipient: UltharKitty
> 
> Creator: AcidGreenFlames  
> Beta: Darkness_Rising (Thank you!!!!:D) 
> 
> Continuity: G1  
> Pairing/Characters: Onslaught, Vortex, Brawl, Swindle, Blast Off, Shockwave, Megatron   
> Rating/Category: R (just in case) for robotic and organic gore  
> Word Count: 24,144   
> Prompt: Decepticons and Zombies AU   
> Spoilers: None  
> Notes/Warnings: I’m sorry it’s so long, it just kind of happened this way o.O But I really hope you like it.

Onslaught watched the space station come into view carefully; he leaned forward in anticipation, elbows perched on his armoured knees, servos dangling between his spread legs. Gold optics narrowed behind a yellow visor as the black space station slowly grew larger in Blast Off’s cabin window.

Behind him, Brawl was slumped over his legs, snoring softly in recharge while Swindle sat beside him in his own chair, fidgeting, unable to sit still and not at all happy to be with them.

Vortex, the glitch that he was, was sitting next to him, sprawled with his arms dangling on either side of the chair, legs spread out in front of him, looking every bit as bored as he likely felt. At least he was blessedly silent.

Lazy, the whole ungrateful lot of them. They were on an important mission for Megatron, one that would put them firmly back into their crazy leader’s good books, for a while at least. The loyalty program twinged, causing the Combaticon commander to flinch at the ‘crazy’ comment, but the small dig was worth it.

Settling back in his chair Onslaught finally addressed Blast Off, keeping the anxiety from his tone. “What’s our ETA Blast Off?”

This mission had to go right, they couldn’t afford another failure. It would only give Motormaster reason to gloat, and give Megatron reason to cut their Energon rations further.

Blast Off, perhaps the only one who understood the importance of this mission, hesitated for a moment as he calculated their vector. “Half a klik.”

Nodding to himself, Onslaught addressed the shuttle once more. “Good. Inform me just before we dock.” Came the order, leaving no room for argument.

Blast Off didn’t respond, and the shuttle would probably have rolled his optics had he been in root form. But, Onslaught didn’t need a response from the shuttle-former, perhaps the only one he trusted enough not to need a response from.

Slapping his palm on the console, light enough as to not actually hurt the shuttle, but loud enough that the noise startled Swindle, jerked Brawl awake and, much to Onslaught’s annoyance, drew Vortex’s gaze with a lazy turn of his helm.

Onslaught snarled as he stood, swinging to his pedes in one smooth motion. Spinning around, arms crossed over his thick chest, the Combaticon commander examined his troops. A noise that was a cross between a snarl and a huff left the Combaticon as Onslaught’s hard glare blazed.

“Alright Combaticons, listen up!” he snapped, deep voice hard and biting, drawing Brawl and Swindle upright in their chairs. Vortex merely relaxed a little further into his seat, claws clicking softly against the arm of his chair.

Onslaught ignored the motion, ignored the insolent little glitch and his insubordination as he called up the maps of the space station they were about to board. He resisted the urge to cuff the copter upside the helm and force him to pay attention like a real soldier. Instead, the commander pointed to the 3D image of the space station’s layout, the dull purple light reflecting on his worn armour. “This is star station 1-3-3-7 in the gamma sector.”

Brawl was unable to stop the amused snort at the space station’s name, but a withering look from Onslaught and a nasty flair from his EM field wiped the smirk from the tank’s face. It wasn’t until the tank’s shoulders hunched and his visor dropped down submissively, did Onslaught continue.

“1-3-3-7 is a black listed research facility that was once run by Shockwave.”

Vortex openly hissed at the scientist’s name, rotors shifting angrily as Swindle’s vents huffed hot air from them and Brawl drew a little tighter into is half ball.  Even Blast Off’s massive frame shuddered at the purple mech’s name, but Onslaught managed to keep his own anger which rose at the mere mention of the Decepticon’s name, at bay.

“Shockwave has requested of Megatron that we come to his space station and retrieve important data that was left behind in his retreat from there.”

Swindle perked up, curious. “Shockwave screwed up and left something behind?” the jeep sounded surprised, suspicious, which in turn triggered Vortex’s suspicion.

“Since when does ol’ Shocky make mistakes like that? I figured for sure Cyclops would have kept a copy of his data on him at all times.”

Onslaught glared at his subordinate, knowing Vortex would not be cowed as easily as Brawl. The copter shrugged a single shoulder, helm lolling against his head rest. “It’s a bit queer, isn’t it, that he sent us and didn’t come himself? That he would make a mistake and leave something important behind? Hardly like our lovable scientist.”

The red visor locked with the yellow one that covered Onslaught’s gold optics, concealing the commanders narrowing gaze. All those thoughts, all the concerns that Vortex brought up, Onslaught had already considered. It was odd that Shockwave had not made the trip himself to retrieve the data he needed, weirder still that Shockwave had left something that he deemed important behind and hadn’t gone back for it all this time.

But regardless of what they thought, Onslaught had dragged his team into the middle of space on Megatron’s order, and chasing down a half dead space station for old data that Shockwave apparently needed, was what his team would do, without question. Any thoughts behind the reason for this trip were Onslaught’s burden, as commander to carry, something his subordinates need not concern themselves about.

“Regardless.” The Combaticon commander snarled, his engine revving aggressively with his angered tone. “This will be an easy mission, a _slagging_ easy mission for us that will put us back into Lord Megaton’s good books.”

The ‘Lord’ bit slipping out far too easy for Onslaught’s liking, but it tended to happen when loyalty programing was shoved so deeply into your processor.  

“I want no problems on this mission. In and out. Quick and easy. _Clean!_ ” Onslaught snapped.

“Well that’s boring.” Vortex scoffed, slouching further into his chair. “This is going to be a boring and pointless mission”

Brawl and Swindle both turned their helms to watch Vortex’s performance. “Besides,” the copter sighed. “Nothing we do will ever be good enough to get back into Megatron’s good graces. Not after, you know, the whole attempted coup thing.” The rotary shrugged a single shoulder, helm canting as his visor brightened. “We only got sent out to the middle of nowhere because no one else wanted to go, and they made us.”

“We are the only team that has the ability of space travel.” Onslaught snarled back.

“ _Astrotrain_ can travel through space. He could have ferried Shockwave here. Face it, we’ve been sent because we’re now bottom of the barrel Decepticon’s, and our only use is Bruticus, and even he is replaceable by Devastator or Menasor.”

Rage shook through Onslaught and it made him want to take a shot at Vortex, to bury his fist so deeply into the interrogator’s abdomen and make him double over in pain; to bring him to heel as quickly as possible. But no, he was not Motormaster, he did not need to hit out his subordinates to make them listen, he was better than that, smarter.

Besides, if he knocked Vortex around and hurt him, he would be useless to them if something happened on the space station and chances were the copter would like it. Thus the whole point of it being a punishment would then be rendered moot.

“Vortex!” Onslaught snarled; voice hard and cold. “If you don’t shut it, I swear you’ll lose all off base and on base privileges for the next six months. No leaving, no flying, no toying around with your _playthings_! None of it!”

And if that didn’t work then Onslaught would put Vortex into solitary for six months. That would be far worse than loss of privileges. It would be torture for a flyer, even a rotary, to be trapped in a small box. It would be an effective punishment while leaving Vortex unharmed to fight should Megatron call for them.

Vortex was not stupid, he knew the weight behind the unspoken threat and heaving a sigh, the rotary slouched further into his seat, arms crossed in a sulk. “I was only saying.”

Onslaught rolled his gold optics, still hidden behind a yellow visor, wondering not for the first time how he was stuck with this rag-tag group of misfits as his gestalt. It could be worse, he supposed. He could be leader of the Stunticons.

Glowering at his mechs, Onslaught snarled softly. “Any more questions?”

He was met by a stony silence from two, and a sulky glance by the third.

“The port is in sight.” Blast Off’s even tone boomed around them. “You should buckle in and prepare to dock.”

Onslaught nodded. “Good.” Then he snapped to all of his subordinates. “In and out. Quick and easy. I don’t want any slag this time around. “

Once again he was met by silence from his gestalt, and he nodded again. Satisfied, the Combaticon Commander knew, _just knew_ , that this mission would go smoothly. It had to, if they ever wanted to be in Megatron’s good graces again.

***

Rubbing the sides of his helm, Onslaught fought the urge to sigh and thought about how good it would feel to blow hot air from his vents in a single hard rush as Vortex complained, once again, how _bored_ be was.

Docking had been only slightly annoying, the only hindrance that the port wasn’t completely functional, making boarding the station uncomfortable at best. Once Blast Off had entered the station, they welded the blast door shut, ensuring the station didn’t implode while they were on board.

It would only be opened again once they were ready to leave, something Brawl in particular was looking forward to.  The tank had rubbed his servos in anticipation at the prospect of blowing something up, perhaps the only thing Brawl would be useful for in their mission to retrieve data. 

The long trek down to the central hub was easy with the map Shockwave had provided, but it didn’t show how awful, or how degraded the walls of the corridors had become.

The lights that did work, flickered lazily above them as they fought to come on and stay on as movement sensors flickered them to life, allowing the small group to see the horrendous state of the space station.

Gouges were ripped into the bare steel, blast holes pockmarked the walls and what looked like could have been important wires, poked out from the damage, some sparking as power surged through the station for the first time in only Shockwave knew.

Something wet and organic sounding made squishing and squelching noises with every heavy foot step; the floor of the corridors covered in a slippery, wet mold that stuck to the bottom of their pedes. A pipe dripping sounded in the distance, and no matter how close they seemed to get, it always sound oh so far away, sending a shudder down even the strongest of spinal struts.

But they were Combaticons, and they always saw their missions through, so they pushed forward, trying to ignore the gooey wetness that seemed to seep into the transformation seams of their pedes; all vents closed up to keep the suffocating scent of organic rot out.

The walls, Onslaught had noticed with disgust, were just as bad as the floor. Amongst the gaping holes and wide maws was a mixture of old black oil that was dried and crusted, even older and discoloured energon blood, dull in its age and quite possibly the worse, some kind of disgusting organic substance. It was wet, just like on the floor, and shiny, almost green like the eyes of a fly with pussy white gunk oozing from between cracks.

Onslaught didn’t bother with the order to not touch, even Vortex knew better than to try, not knowing what he would get should he try and dabble with the mold like substance that fuzzed across the walls.

Finley tuned sensors were turned up high, as high as they possibly could be as they strained to listen for the occasional sound of something sliding and slithering through a wall, only to have scanners pick up no source of life.

It was only their subconscious acting up, Onslaught had reasoned with himself as he stomped through the puddles of wetness, firmly ignoring how the liquefied substance got deeper the further into the station they went. Their subconscious acting up with the help of memories of past battles, too long spent fighting and bad Earth movie’s where monsters lived in the dark.

_They were the monsters!_ Onslaught had though bitterly, leading his team to the control room without anyone getting lost, anything getting broken and more importantly, without any incident.  

In and out, no problems.

At least that’s what Onslaught had said again when they finally made it to the control hub. Unlike the rest of the station, which seemed to be rotting from the inside out, none of the wetness or the mold touched the control room. It was still clean, silver and shining in its preserved state, the lights bright and blinding, forcing them to dial down the sensitivity of their optics. None of them had cared that they left dirty green trails as they stalked into the central hub so that Blast Off could start the information download.

In and out. No problems.

It was only when Blast Off had glanced up at his commander, grimacing behind his battle mask as he told Onslaught it would take up to five Earth hours to complete the download, did the others begin to complain.

“You know, this space station is huge. Who knows what else could be here.” A red visor had glinted up at his commander almost hopefully. “We could find something useful.”

“And, we could find something of value! We might as well make this trip down to the pits worth something and make a little something extra.” Purple optics gleamed happily. “Shockwave didn’t say we couldn’t.”

Brawl stood between his team mates, nodding his helm in agreement, the prospect of staying in the too clean control room for the next five hours suddenly lost all appeal, despite the filth outside. The tank would rather be covered in some disgusting organic sludge than wait around doing nothing in a pristine room.                

Glancing from Vortex to Swindle, Onslaught sighed. The thought of spending the next five hours with these two fraggers annoying the scrap out of him was not an idea that he relished, but as they were forced to be here then they might as well make some use of it.

“Fine.” Onslaught spat as he relented, glowering at them. “You can explore the station, but take only what you can carry. Touch nothing that will dismantle you and stay together!”

Vortex and Swindle shared a distasteful look, glowering at each other for a moment before returning to Onslaught. 

“But Ons...” Swindle tried, but was quickly cut off by his commander.

“I am not spending any more time than I have to on this scrap heap and I do not want to have to come looking for you! You will stay together, you will take only what you can carry, and you _will_ be back here in four and a half Earth hours! Do you understand?”

Again, Vortex and Swindle shared an uneasy look, annoyed but relenting. “Fine.” Vortex’s childlike sigh heaved from him.

Swindle nodded excitedly, the idea of finding untested weapons was too enticing to pass up.

Waving the small group off, the trio nearly ran for the double doors. It was only after they were all gone, the doors closing behind them, did the large Combaticon slouch in the chair next to Blast Off, to wait his five hours out in peaceful silence. The shuttle was leaning over the thick console, reading something on the screen that Onslaught couldn’t be bothered to ask about. All he wanted was the data to finish downloading and return to Earth.

“You realize,” Blast Off started, his voice low, hidden optics still reading the data on the screen. “That you sent them off like teenagers at a mall for the first time.”

Onslaught snorted. “Why do you even know what a mall is?”

A thick shoulder guard shrugged, optics never leaving the screen, despite the disturbing content. “I like to read and Earth provides very little good literature.”

Onslaught shrugged. “Either way, we’ve got the next four and a half hours of peace and quiet.”

That comment succeeded in drawing Blast Off’s optics from the screen, and even Onslaught was willing to bet he was almost grinning behind that battle mask. “And for that, I thank you.”

Onslaught smirked, it was going to be an easy mission, so long as the other three kept out of trouble.

Easy, in and out. No problems. 

***

Bent at the waist, digging through a scrap bin of parts, Vortex looked for the rest of the pieces that could possibly be the missing parts of the Core Disrupter gun he had just found. The slimy red substance had spread throughout the rest of the space station, thick and almost furry the deeper into the station they had gone.

But they had endured the sludge and the slime, staying together as Onslaught had ordered, finally finding the untested weapons lab. Anything worth finding would be somewhere within the garbage of the pieces that lay scattered around the abandoned lab. Whoever had left here had done so in a hurry as half tested weapons lay partly assembled on most work stations, covered in the organic sludge.

Swindle suddenly sighed, drawing Vortex’s attention as the jeep nearly pouted. “There’s nothing here!” He spat, glowering at the half built weapons and untested devices.

Grinning, Vortex heaved the heavy gun up, hardly caring that it too was still partly covered in the reddish fuzz. “Don’t be so picky Swindle. Look at what I found!”

A small piece of the gun suddenly fell off, clanging to the ground with a wet splat and the clang of metal. Swindle’s purple optics tracked the objects descent with disinterest and something akin to annoyance. “Oh yes, that’ll bring in so many creds.”

Vortex scowled at the con-mech, bending to pick up the fallen piece.

“Is that thing even safe?” Brawl managed to say, square helm canting.

The light of the red visor flared briefly as Vortex shrugged. “Once I find the rest of it, and put it back together, I reckon it’ll be safe enough.”

“What! How could you know that?” Swindle snapped. “I bet that thing doesn’t even work anymore!”

Vortex’s helm slowly lifted, visor bright and angry. “Well let’s point it at you first and find out.”

“What! No!”

“Well if it doesn’t work, what’s the problem?” Vortex’s smooth voice rang out, enraging Swindle all the more.

Brawl sighed, dropping into one of abandoned chairs, shifting uncomfortably against the melted metal as his team mates began to argue. He hated when his gestalt mates fought like this, it made him unhappy and uneasy, especially when he saw how well the Constructicons _could_ get along.

The tank often pondered why his gestalt argued as they did, it would be so much easier to just get along. They would be a much better unit that much was for sure. They would also be much better soldiers, and then maybe Megatron would stop hating them so much.

Brawl jumped up, subconsciously drawing closer to his bickering gestalt mates when something blisteringly loud squealed, sounding like claws biting into metal.

Vortex and Swindle suddenly fell quiet, drawing silently closer together, the combiner program demanding they look out for one another’s welfare. The thick and suddenly suffocating silence rang loudly between the trio as they strained to listen for what could have made the noise.

Nothing blinked on scanners, nothing moved in the dark.

Working his jaw, Swindle managed to speak. “What…what do you think that was?”

Rotors shifted and a barrel twitched in agitation.

“It was just the station settling. It’s old right? I bet it’s just some of walls giving out. Or something.”   Vortex ventured, not entirely sure if he believed it himself.

Swindle’s square helm twisted to face his gestalt mate, frown deepening. “Walls giving out? That didn’t sound like walls giving out! That was claws! _You_ should know what that sounds like!”

Vortex snarled at Swindle’s snarking words, not liking the tone in which the smaller mech used. “Watch it there Swindle. Onslaught never said you _had_ to come back with us.”

Swindle drew himself up a little taller, purple optics narrowing. “Don’t get all annoyed just because _I_ speak logic, and that seems to be beyond you!”

Brawl sighed again, shoulders slumping as his team mates descended back into pointless bickering, each trying to cut the other deeper, throw the nastier insult and be louder than the other. Their behaviour made Brawl all the more uncomfortable. They were surrounded by slime and organic sludge, which made the tank nervous at the best of times and his team mates arguing made it all the worse.

Claws bit back into metal, causing it to screech loudly, a burst of noise exploding from the dark hallways. It was enough to silence Vortex and Swindle once more, causing the jeep to shudder and rotors to flick as the noise moved closer.

Swindle crossed his arms to hide the shaking of his servos. “That was closer!” he managed to hiss. “That was not from walls collapsing!”

Vortex watched the blackened door carefully, helm canting, sensors searching for any form of life. Heaving a heavy sigh, the rotary dropped the still broken weapon in his servos, letting it fall to the ground with a substantial _clang_ as it hit the ground, sloshing in the wet substance at their pedes. 

“Come on, let’s go check it out.” Vortex sighed, sounding disappointed that he had not found the missing pieces to his new toy. “Nothing but mold and rust in this fragging place anyways.”

Stomping past his gestalt mates, neither stopping him, Vortex stormed to the door, kicking it open, breaking it instead of waiting for the old gears to pull it open.  

“Come on.” He hissed. “Let’s go find Swindle’s monster.”

Nearly pouting, Swindle frowned at his taller team mate. “I never said it was a monster.”

Falling in line behind Vortex, Brawl fought the urge to press into his gestalt mates back as the combiner program called for him to calm his two team mates, trying to ignore his own unease at what the noise could have possibly been.

As they slowly made their way into the corridor, Swindle fell in line behind Brawl, his servo suddenly clutching at his thicker wrist and taking comfort in the close proximity of a gestalt mate.

“Then what is it?” Vortex mocked, slowly walking down the hall, blaster suddenly in servo, claws flexing, just in case.

Swindle glowered over a green shoulder plate ahead of him. “I don’t know, but someone’s here!”

“Someone we can’t see on our sensors?” Vortex mocked.

“Could have a cloaking device.” Brawl mumbled, pulling Swindle a little closer to him, unusually protective of his gestalt mate.        

Vortex suddenly spun, the ground squeaking under his pedes. “A cloaking device? _Here_!” the rotary laughed for a moment until he spotted how Swindle clung to Brawl’s wrist. “Are you two holding Servos?” The copter’s tone was more indignant than surprised. “Vector Sigma!” he spat, throwing his servos in the air in exasperation. “You’re supposed to be Combaticons! Combaticons do not hold Servos!”

Brawl and Swindle quickly shared a worried look as the jeep released his tight grip from the tank’s wrist.

“Wasn’t holding servos.” Brawl muttered looking down.

Snarling, Vortex tossed his servos into the air again. “Vector Sigmaaaaa!” the rotary suddenly shrieked as his clawed servo disappeared into the blackness above, dragged into a hole above them.

Swindle gasped and Brawl cried out as Vortex screamed again, trying desperately to pull his servo from whatever had caught it, screaming out “It’s biting me!”

Forcing the panic away, Brawl and Swindle each lunged for their gestalt mate, the combiner programming demanding they protect their team mate, demanding they save him. They acted on instinct, each grabbing onto the grey armour of Vortex’s arm and pulling down for all their worth.

Wires and piping fell as more of the celling gave, showering them in sparks and debris. The sudden give caused Brawl to lose his footing, dragging the other two down with him in a heap, but neither he nor Swindle relinquishing their hold on Vortex’s arm.

In a tangle of arms and legs, both Swindle and Brawl fought to right themselves, to see the damage done by whatever had grabbed Vortex, only to freeze when a wheezing laughter rang around them.

“Oh Sigma! Oh Primus! You two have got to see your faces!” Vortex managed to wheeze between fits of laughter. “I thought you two were gonna blow a gasket!”

Brawl and Swindle managed to make it to a sitting position, stunned as Vortex pressed his uninjured servo to his belly as he laughed harder.

Shock turned to dismay and anger as Vortex continued to mock. “Ahh! Oh no, _it’s got me!_ ”

“It’s not funny!” Swindle hissed as he climbed to his pedes, kicking out at his still laughing team mate.

“Oh Sigma it is!” Vortex managed, vents still wheezing as he tried to calm down.

“That wasn’t funny Vortex.” Brawl agreed as he stood, dusting himself off, glad for once the gestalt bond was blocked and the copter couldn’t actually feel how much his stupid prank upset him. They were a gestalt now, when one was hurt the others hurt and that was something Brawl didn’t want Vortex to see.

“Oh calm down.” Vortex waved them off as he managed to stand, still giggling. “Though I am very touched how you both jumped in to save me.”

Swindle glared, his EM flaring with his anger. “I fragging hate you.”

Vortex laughed again, arms crossing over his chest to say something else when Swindle was attacked.

It was sudden and fast, something none of them saw coming from the murky blackness. The black blur moved so quickly it was nearly lost to the shadows, tackling the jeep to the ground with a gurgling cry.

Stunned, Vortex froze, watching as Swindle went crashing to the floor, the large black mass over his tan frame. It was all happening so fast that Vortex vaguely wondered if he was just seeing things or had Swindle actually gone flying to the floor. It wasn’t until the jeep’s pained cries filled the air around them as he screamed while flailing limbs tore at his armour, ripping into it and pulling it apart, did Vortex realize he was not seeing things. 

Blunt yet strong digits dug painfully into transformation seams at Swindle's side, trying desperately to pull armour from the protoform, causing pain to burst from the damaged area, red warnings flashing in front of Swindle’s optics. Brightly colored energon pooled under the straining armour, dripping slowly to the slushy ground below in disturbing trails.

Brawl snapped from his stunned stupor a mere moment before Vortex did, battle protocols snapping online and rushing to the forefront of his processor so quickly, it nearly hurt; protocols that had the tank rushing forward and kicking the black mass from Swindle.

It, whatever _it_ was, squealed a gurgling cry as the force from Brawl’s toe plate caused a metal stomach to dent as it was kicked away, but it never relinquished its hold on the side plating on Swindle’s body. The light brown plate gave way, tearing from the smaller Combaticon’s body sending the creature rolling away and into a wall.

Curling into a small ball around the wound in his side, Swindle pressed his servos tightly to the gaping hole, trying to force the energon back in. Brawl took a knee beside his gestalt mate, pressing a servo to a dented shoulder plate, concern mingled with fear flickering through his EM field.

Vortex’s red optics narrowed, darkening with anger as he glowered at the attacker in the shadows, likely a deranged Cybertronian who had been left behind when Shockwave fled. Protectiveness flared unexpectedly through Vortex, one servo clenching his blaster in anger.

No one screwed with Swindle but him. No one!

The blaster was raised just as the thing struggled to his feet, pressing its servos against the wall for leverage as it stood with wet pants that gurgled through damaged vents. Opening fire, Vortex felt nothing as the hulking shadow suddenly jerked back, flattening to the wall, thrashing like a rag doll every time a blast of laser hit its dull, rust covered chest.

It was only when Vortex’s blaster needed its cool down time, and a dark hole was punched through the shadow, did the copter stop shooting. The mech slumped to the ground, leaving a slimy red trail along the wall, old energon glowing dully as the mech hit the ground.

This gave Vortex a moment of pause, his helm canted as he examined the cloudy pink energon that trailed down to the corpse. The interrogator had seen enough death and fresh corpses to know that was not what freshly spilt energon looked like.

The thought was pushed to the back of Vortex’s processor when Brawl poked at his calf with a blunt digit, worry flaring almost pathetically through his EM. Dropping his optics to his gestalt mates, Vortex canted his helm in question.

The tank gave a small, worried shrug. “Do you have a med kit? This is pretty bad.”

Vortex blinked at him for a moment then huffed a dry laugh. “Heh. Yeah here.” Tugging the med kit from subspace he handed it to Brawl. “Heh, thing’s dead now. Did ya see the way he danced when I shot him up?” Amusement crawled thought Vortex’s lines as he pictured how the mech had jerked and twitched with every blast from his gun.

Swindle groaned as Brawl’s clumsy servos started to close the leaking lines, stopping the loss of energon as best he could. “Yeah, it was really awesome there Tex.”

Vortex laughed again, claws twitching, wanting to be buried deep inside armour and scratching against the softer protoform. It was a shame really that the mech had died so quickly. He could have had some fun here, kept himself entertained for the next few Earth hours.

Vortex shook himself mentally, forcing himself to focus on the here and now, not would haves or could haves. The interrogator opened his mouth, a sarcastic remark on the tip of his glossa, ready to be tossed out as Brawl helped Swindle to his pedes, when something groaned.

Three helms twisted back to the wall, energon freezing in their lines, sparks growing cold at the sight of the dead mech climbing, shambling to his pedes. The holes punched into his chest oozed slowly, energon dripping down the dirty mech’s belly and onto the floor. It released a broken moan, standing on shaking legs, and Vortex found himself backing up, not understanding what he was seeing, bumping into Brawl and Swindle.

The broken mech shuffled forward unsteadily, coming slowly into the dim pooling light, a leg dragging behind it and the three Combaticons couldn’t help but wonder how the mech was able to stand.

It ambled forward, the dull light finally shining over the dirty armour, a faded Autobot symbol chipped and flaking off. Its denta were shattered and broken, sharp jagged pieces sticking out from a broken mouth that hung awkwardly on a broken jaw.

Its whole body was covered in the organic sludge they had encountered throughout the station, organic like puss oozing from every transformation seam, dripping heavily to the floor. It raised his shattered arms, its broken fingers, covered in the same fuzz which covered the walls. It sounded wet as it moved, gooey and moist, almost sticking to the floors.

It continued to slowly stumble forward, vents hissing in wheezing gasps.

The trio of Combaticons blinked at the creature that came at them with arms raised, its broken jaw slack.

The gestalt link suddenly hummed with need, the sudden need to act, the need to kill, and as a single unit they lifted their blasters, even Swindle as he still clutched his side, raised his weapon and opened fire.

The mech, the _thing,_ continued its broken walk, taking every hit, every shot in its stride. The mangled body twitched and jerked, but it just kept coming. Its optics were blank, no light shining from them. They were dead; devoid of life and thought.

Despite their persistent fire, it still kept coming at them, the never ending shamble hardly missing a step as it continued on its quest.

With their blasters forced into their cooling down period, the Combaticons paused for a moment, watching the _thing_ , whatever it had become, as it slowly came at them, slowly picking up speed.

Swindle blinked at the approaching abomination, fear finally eating at his spark. “Vortex, what do we do?”

Vortex didn’t answer, his EM wasn’t even flaring against Swindle’s.   

“Vortex?” He took a step back, drawing Brawl back with him. “What do we do now?”

Still, there was no answer from the interrogator.

“T-Tex?” Swindle finally forced himself to look away from the decaying Autobot and up at Vortex; blinking at the empty space where the copter once stood and the jeep looked further back down the corridor.

Vortex, the most feared interrogator of the Decepticons, was running down the hall, hauling his aft in the opposite direction.

“Vortex!” Swindle yelled out, servos thrown into the air. “What are you doing running away!?”

Vortex skidded to a stop as he spun around, servos on his hips. “We shot that thing dead! Run you idiots!” The copter spun around once more and continued his fleeing down the hall, yelling over his shoulder. “The doorway out of this corridor has a blast door! Move it you idiots!”

Brawl and Swindle shared a glance for the briefest of moments before they turned to follow Vortex down the corridor, the creature behind them screamed a gurgling cry before it gave chase, charging after them.

The _dead_ mech moved with surprising speed now that its quarry was no longer standing still, its pedes hitting the ground in heavy wet steps. The stench of rot suddenly filled the air around them, clogging their vents and throats as they ran, the _monster_ gaining on them, snapping a broken jaw.

Vortex passed through the corridor and into the vestibule first, slapping his palm onto the bright red emergency button. The light above the door flickered on, bright and red as it flashed and the thick blast door began its slow descent as Brawl and Swindle ran towards it.

Brawl felt panic flair briefly through him, sharp and piercing. “Don’t let the door close!” he yelled, pushing himself as hard as he could. “Vortex wait!”

Vortex snarled, still hidden in the vestibule. “Run faster!” he snarled back.

Letting out a strangled sound, Brawl worked at getting his heavy, short legs to move faster as Swindle pulled ahead.

Vortex snarled and sighed, watching the blast door sinking lower, his two gestalt mates still running. Planting one pede into the corner of the door way, Vortex crouched then jammed his shoulder into the base of the blast door, pushing up.

Gears whined when they were forced into reverse as the interrogator pushed against the bottom of the blast door, fighting against its natural want to push down. It was the combiner coding that made him do it, made him put himself on the line to save his gestalt mates. But at that very moment, with fear bleeding through the blocks of the gestalt bond, with Swindle and Brawl running for their lives, Vortex couldn’t find it in him to care that his own life was in danger.

Swindle, limping and injured, passed Vortex first, ducking under the door to safety, Brawl right behind him.

With a snarl, Vortex slipped back under the blast door, standing in front of Brawl and Swindle and the interrogator dropped to his knees as he took aim and fired, sinking lower as the door closed. But the thing kept coming, its charging gait never hesitating, and even when Vortex opened fire, the thing didn’t seem to care as chunks and parts flew from its damaged frame.

Old energon and the odd organic sludge sprayed out behind the limping creature, spattering the rot along the walls.

The door sunk lower still, forcing Vortex to drop lower, aiming for the creature’s knees. The struts of one knee blew out, dropping the creature to the ground. Its gaping black maw opened in a silent scream, its throat sparking from where something had once bitten into it, before the blast door slammed shut, separating the Combaticons from the creature.

The thing on the other side of the blast door gurgled loudly, its dull digits scrapping weakly at the thick steel door. Vortex fell back onto his aft, staring at the blast door, Brawl still standing, leaning over his knees as he panted. Swindle, holding onto the damaged plating at his side, leaned against the decaying wall, purple optics wide and in shock as he stared at the blast door.

Vortex turned to his fellow Combaticons, his grin hidden behind his mask. “Heh, I’ve no idea what the hell that was, but it wouldn’t die.” His helm canted. “What was that?”

Brawl continued to pant, visor bright with his panic. “I think that was a zombie.”

Confused, Swindle glanced up at his gestalt mate. “The hell is a zombie?”

Brawl shrugged. “It’s a human monster.” He glanced from Swindle’s narrowing optics to Vortex’s hidden ones. “You know,” he shrugged again. “It’s the undead that chase you for your brains.”

The tank glanced down, toe plate suddenly digging into the ground, suddenly feeling dumb and unsure. The creature’s never ending scratching could be heard through the door, relentless in its endeavour to get through the door.

Vortex stood suddenly, dusting himself off, suddenly cackling. “A zombie! Really Brawl?” the interrogator burst into fits of laughter, claws clinking against his thighs as he tucked his blaster back into subspace. “You couldn’t think of anything better?”

“Well, what would you call it then?”

“How should I know what it is? But I know it’s not some human monster.” The grey shoulder shrugged as the rotors shifted at his back. “Likely a guard that was left behind and went nuts. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Brawl wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince them, or himself.    

Swindle straightened, still wobbly from his injury. “Then how was it able to keep coming even after we shot it? Vortex, it just kept coming at us.”

“And what? You think it’s a zombie?” Vortex snapped, arms crossing.

“No! That’s just ridiculous. It was one of Shockwave’s experiments for all we know.” Swindle snapped back, siding with Brawl.

The interrogator snorted. “Whatever. It’s trapped on the other side of the door now. I doubt it’s going to get through that.”

The creature continued to scratch at the other side of the door, gurgling, growling higher and higher. Suddenly gurgling turned into a screech, high and piercing, causing the trio to jerk and jump at the sudden noise.

It ended as suddenly as it started, leaving the Combaticons silent in the wake of the high pitched noise.

“The hell was that?” Vortex snapped, glowering at the door where the creature was once again gurgling and scratching softly.

Swindle stared the door in shock, not quite sure what had just happened, or what he had just heard. He opened his mouth to answer when the same high pitched screech answered the call, causing the Combaticons to freeze.

First one voice cried back in answer, then another, then another, until half a dozen voices called back before the silence returned. The gurgling from behind the blast door became high and almost happy sounding.

“Alright, forget this.” Vortex snarled, optics narrowing at nothing as he glanced around at the empty room, half expecting something to be there. “As much fun as killing…” he paused for a moment, “Zombies would be, I think it’s time to get back to Blast Off and Onslaught and get the hell out of here.”

The other two nodded as a howl reached a crescendo once again, high and loud, causing Brawl grab at his audials in pain.

When the silence rang loudly once again, the tank glanced at his team mates, his worried face hidden behind his mask. “I think we’re in trouble.” He whispered, not wanting to see the fear on Swindle’s face.

***

Onslaught was sitting at the console next to Blast Off as the shuttle continued to download the data that Shockwave had sent them for. His helm was propped on a servo that was tucked under his chin, a data pad with puzzle games braced in his lap, something that helped take the edge of his boredom.

Movement from the corner of his optic forced the commander to raise his helm and regard Blast Off. The shuttle’s EM had suddenly become full of discomfort and worry, and the usually aloof mech actually squirmed in his seat as though he were nervous.

That caused the commander to frown; even when Megatron was aiming his rage at their team, Blast Off never worried nor showed any signs of nerves. He was always as cold as space and as steady as Ratchet’s servos. If something was causing the calmest, most steadfast member of his team to worry, it was something worth worrying about.         

“What is it?” Onslaught quietly asked, the edge in his tone telling the other he would not accept anything but an answer.

Blast Off frowned, thick digits tapping at the space beside the silver key board, no longer caring about the state of the device. “I’ve found what Shockwave wants.” He grumbled slowly, his unease becoming ever more present in his flaring EM field.

He glanced up at his commander, face pinched behind its protective covering. “It’s bad Onslaught. Really bad.” The shuttle glanced back at the glowing screen and its blue sheen of light. “Like, the time Vortex took it upon himself to seek revenge on the coneheads after they went after Swindle, kind of bad.”

The shuttle looked back at his commander, optics pale in his worry. When Blast Off worried, there was usually just cause for it, and Onslaught didn’t want to know. They were there for data, no other reason than that, absolutely no reason for them to become involved any more than that.

“Onslaught, he’s…”

The commander turned his attention back to his data pad, more than happy to remain ignorant of what Shockwave was doing. “Don’t bother Blast Off. That’s not why we’re here. We are here for data retrieval, nothing more.”

“Onslaught.” Blast Off tried again, a desperate tone coming into his voice. “You need to hear this. As much as it kills me to say, Vortex may have been right when he said that we were sent for a reason.”

Onslaught snorted, optics still not leaving his data pad. “So now we’re listening to Vortex?”

Blast Off shot his commander a baleful look as his fists clenched. Again, that was what Onslaught noticed. It was rare for the shuttle to become emotional over anything.

“Onslaught, listen to me…” whatever the shuttle was going to say, was desperate for Onslaught to listen to, was cut short suddenly as howls filled the suffocating silence of the abandoned station. It was high pitched, causing the plating of the two large mechs to pull their plating tight to their protoforms instinctively as the noises grew louder, dozens of voices and cries calling to and answering one another.

Soft clicks and whirs were closer to them, some even coming from the walls around them as they too answered the call. Just as quickly as it began, the silence returned, almost deafening in how quiet the station had suddenly become.

Abandoning the data pad, Onslaught pulled his rifle from subspace, carefully looking around the perimeter of the room. “What in the name of the Unmaker was that!?”   

“Onslaught. You need see this now.” Came Blast Off’s calm voice, cutting through his haze of growing anger.       

But the commander ignored the shuttle, rage growing, directed mostly at the missing interrogator. “I gave them one simple order!” he spat. “Don’t get into trouble! How hard is it to manage to _not_ bring the house down on top of us for once?”

“Onslaught, I don’t think this is Vortex’s fault this time.” Blast Off reasoned, optics glancing to the door, freezing when he heard claws clinking against the solid steel.

The shuttle cursed softly, hidden optics pinned on the door, pricking Onslaught’s curiosity.

The large Decepticon swung around, half expecting to be met with an enemy the way Blast Off acted, and not the dull, silvery doorway. 

Confusion licked through the commander, wondering what could have spooked Blast Off, when he was suddenly tackled from behind and dragged to the floor behind the console. 

Onslaught had no time to react to the attack when he was suddenly shoved against the console, his back flat against the massive computer. Blast Off’s massive servo pressed into one of his shoulders to keep him pinned in place. Rage surged through the smaller of the two Combaticons, causing him to snarl as he tried to escape Blast Off’s hold, cursing himself for forgetting how much larger Blast Off was than he. 

Onslaught snarled again, glowering up at the shuttle crouching over him, peeking over the console, staring intently at the door. 

"Let me up now, or so help me Bla…" 

The shuttle dropped back down low, hiding behind the console once more, thick digits digging into Onslaughts throat, squeezing the components that made up his vocalizer in order to silence him. 

The comm lines hissed as they came online. ::Shut up! There's something at the door.::

Rage surged again, causing Onslaughts frame to overheat. ::Then we face it like Combaticons! Not frightened Autobots hiding in the dark!:: he spat back, shame flicking through his spark with indignation. 

::Onslaught, please!:: That was enough to keep the commander from struggling any more. ::Please just be silent until we know what's out there.::

As much as Onslaught hated to admit it, it unnerved him to hear Blast Off say what and not who. 

The Combaticons flinched at the sound of the door opening, causing even Blast Off to cringe lower to the ground. Holding a digit up where his lips would be had his blast mask not been up, causing Onslaught to frown behind his own.

Something heavy stepped into the room, moving slow and lumbering, the thick scent of rot filling the space around them as the door closed behind whatever had just entered. Confusion slowly wriggled its way through Onslaught’s anger as he heard whatever had stepped through the doorway, pause and sniff the air.

Blast Off was frozen next to his commander, servo suddenly clutching at his elbow, tighter than it should have been as the thing gurgled. Something wet and heavy dripped on the floor, like a chunk of organic flesh hitting the ground.

The stench of the rot mingled with the stale air of the room they were trapped in, forcing even Onslaught to close all his vents in an attempt to keep the noxious fumes out, but even that didn’t help. The creature gurgled again, taking slow, uneven steps towards the console.

A soft strangled noise left Blast Off as the creature neared and Onslaught snarled softly, once more reaching for a weapon from subspace. Instead, Blast Off hissed, shoving at his commander’s thigh and shoulder, their comms once again crackling to life. ::Go! Behind the console.::

The _thing_ continued to near, the wet splats from heavy foot falls echoing in the silent room. Onslaught shot Blast Off a sour glare, his annoyance at being told, almost ordered to run, clear in his flickering EM. ::Are you foolish! We are not hiding from that thing!::

::You don’t even know what it is!:: Blast Off hissed back, anger rising through his EM. ::You didn’t want to know what was in here before!::

A heavy clawed servo dropped on the flat part of the console, the once sharp talons dulled to nothing after years of abuse and neglect. Blast Off shoved at his commander again, desperation flickering in his EM now as something much larger than either of them stumbled its way around the console.

Huffing an angry sigh, Onslaught did as his subordinate nearly begged, deciding that when they got back to Earth, he was going to have a nice long talk with his Combaticons on how things worked and _who_ exactly was the commander of their unit.

Relenting, Onslaught quietly crab walked backwards, blazing optics pinned on the servo of the gurgling creature, noticing how the servo was slicked in old energon and the odd red organic sludge that covered the space station.

Blast Off crawled with Onslaught, staying so low his chest nearly scrapped along the ground, his unease clear in his fluctuating field. The digits that hung over the lip of the console drummed stupidly, as though their owner couldn’t decide if it wanted to waste the effort of coming around the other side of the console.

Then Blast Off shoved Onslaught around the corner, pressing his back against the side of the console, the shuttle curling into a small ball beside him, trying to stay low. The wet noises of the creature continued as the thing finally decided to come around the corner, stopping to stare at whatever had caught its attention.

Its breathing was a heavy panting that rattled with fluid caught in its vents. Blast Off was as still as a hunting cat, barley even blinking as he pressed against the console. But the creature didn’t come after them, instead it just stared at seemingly nothing.

Onslaught’s curiosity piqued; he wanted to know what could have spooked Blast Off so, and he needed to know what was gurgling just beyond the computer console. Poking his helm out on the opposite side, the Combaticon saw thick red and blackish foot prints from the creature that had crossed the room. Chunks of rusted metal and hunks of organic flesh had dropped to the floor from the thing while it made its slow journey across the room, but Onslaught wanted to see what _it_ was, not its trails.

Twisting to sit on his knees, Onslaught slowly pushed himself upwards, stretching his spinal struts to peek over the edge of the computer console. Blast Off hissed through his comm. ::Stay down!::

::Shut up Blast Off.:: Onslaught hissed back as his visor peered over the flat surface of the console, and the Combaticon felt the remaining air leave his body in a rush, felt every iota of his being freeze in shock.

What stood there, staring blankly with black optics at the computer screen as data downloaded, was once a shuttle. Its tattered wings were covered in the same red mold and brown rust, large hunks of wing falling off from the bottom. It was missing one of its servos, an oozing, goopy stump was all that was left of it.  

The creature wheezed, helm canting as it stared at the softly glowing screen, mesmerised by  the flickering lights there, black liquid bubbling from between parted lips. The _monster_ was covered helm to toe plate in some kind of red slime, mixing with the rust and an Autobot insignia adorned the center of its chest, chipped and faded with time.

Onslaught felt his own lips part in shock as his jaw actually dropped. There was not much that surprised the seasoned warrior, but seeing a dead Autobot shuttle watching the flickering lights of the screen, was something that was enough to stall even Onslaught.

::Blast Off, what am I looking at?:: The Commander’s usually guarded tone was open with shock, even through their comm. link.

::I thought you didn’t want to know.:: Blast Off spat back.

The Combaticon sunk down low again as the creature snarled suddenly, helm canting to a noise the two living mechs were not privy to hearing. The soft gurgling turned more urgent as it turned away from the screen and shuffled from the room, leaving a trail of slime and parts in its wake.

Neither Combaticon moved until they heard the blast doors that had swooshed open, close again. The pair rose as one, Onslaught’s servos clenching and unclenching in rage. He turned to his subordinate, forcing his EM to rake harshly over Blast Off’s, ensuring his rage was easily felt. “Blast Off, what in the name of the Pit is going on here!”

The shuttle sighed, shoulders drooping, face grim hidden behind his battle mask.

***

Blue light flickered against the dark red walls and over living armour as the trio of Combaticons crowded over the holo-projection of the map of the station. Heaving a sigh, Vortex scratched at the side of his helm as he studied the map.

All three of them had tried to contact their commander, Blast Off too, but something was interfering with their internal comm. systems, despite the fact that they could communicate with one another. Swindle had suggested that maybe there had been some shielding device built into the walls, leaving them free to connect to one another whilst they were in the same room, but cut off to anyone further afield.

Brawl had nodded in agreement, Swindles explanation logical to him while Vortex had shrugged his shoulders, not caring to the explanation, only caring that right now, their commander had no idea of the slag they were in.

Swindle crouched down low next to him, servo still clamped over the damaged plates in his side, the slow leak of energon oozing between his digits; a product of Brawl’s shoddy patch job. The tank was unusually quiet between the rotary and the jeep, the barrel of his alt form humming softly between his shoulders.

“Alright.” Vortex said gruffly, poking at the soft light, forcing the bitter shame of running back to his commander and the shuttle away; they were Combaticon’s dammit! They didn’t run from battle with tails tucked between their legs, they ran towards it!

But even Vortex knew when they were in too deep, when they didn’t know what they were dealing with. It was a tactical retreat, Vortex convinced himself, that was it. Something Blast Off would have planned for and Onslaught would have bitterly carried out in order to survive.

“We can’t go back the way we came.” Vortex said firmly.

“Yeah,” Swindle spat angrily. “That’s because you closed the blast door and trapped us on this side of the station!”

“Well, next time you decide to get eaten by a zombie, I’ll let him finish the job.” Vortex snapped back coldly, visor flashing brightly.

The tan jeep glared at his team mate, Vortex not backing down and the whole thing made Brawl sigh again. “Guys, can we just get back to the computer room thingy before you start arguing again.”

Vortex and Swindle held their glare a beat longer before they both looked back down at the map.

“Alright then mighty leader, how are we getting back to the control room?” Swindle asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Vortex snarled, shooting his team mate a nasty look, his EM pressing aggressively against Swindle’s. “We’re going to cut through Shockwave’s labs. It’s the most direct route back.”

Brawl nodded, liking the idea of getting back quickly. There was safety in numbers, and they didn’t know what they were up against.

The tank was about to agree, when Swindle’s EM suddenly flickered, his fear and unease reading like an open book. His tone was hard and angry, a cover for how scared he actually felt. “Forget it! Are you out of your mind!? I am not going through Shockwave’s lab! No way, no how! That’s just suicidal!” Purple optics flickered between his two companions. “Just because _you_ want to die doesn’t mean I want to!”

Crimson optics rolled behind the crystal glass of Vortex’s visor, an annoyed huff venting from the copter. “Stop being so dramatic.” The copter snapped. “It’s not nearly that bad.”

“Not that bad! Those things will be crawling all over the lab! That’s where Shockwave would have kept them!”

“First of all, stop being such a coward!” Vortex finally snapped.

“We couldn’t even kill one! What are we going to do if we run into hoards of them?” Swindle bleated, panic flashing through the jeep.

“Swindle. Shut. Up!” The rotary snapped, silencing the jeep’s babble. “The likelihood of those things still being there are slim, they’d be spread throughout the entire station by now. In fact, the labs would be the best place to head, they would’ve all headed out from there.”

Vortex gave himself a sure nod, convinced his plan was best.

Swindle shook his helm no. “Forget it, I’m not going through the labs. There’s gotta be another way.”

Vortex sighed, annoyed, as he narrowed his optics. “Bloody coward Swindle. That’s what you are. A bloody coward.”

Crimson optics dipped down to the projection between them, helm canted as he studied it. “Fine.” Vortex said suddenly. “If you’re going to be such a wimp about the whole thing, we’ll go through the mess hall. Its further out of the way, but we won’t have to go through the _labs_.”

Swindle held the interrogator’s glare with his own purple optics narrowed in disdain. “Fine.”

“Good.” Vortex spat as he stood, snatching the holo-pad from the ground, turning it off before tossing it back into subspace. “Then let’s get going.”

Swindle held his dark look as Vortex spun around, storming down the hall, pedes nearly splashing in the slime on the ground. Snarling, the jeep climbed to his own pedes, storming after his team mate, side still aching.

Brawl brought up the rear, silent as he always was, with a heavy sigh. Wishing that just once, Vortex and Swindle would stop hating each other so much, or at least got along during life or death situations.

***

The halls of the space station got grungier the deeper they went, cluttered with junk left behind as those that had left, had clearly left in a hurry. Empty cubes of energon, old parts of weapons and frame parts, as well as metal crates and barrels littered most the hallways. The trio of Combaticons carefully picked their way through the piles of junk, the bleeding to Swindle’s side finally slowing to a stop.

“You think they hunt by sound?” Brawl asked quietly from the back of the line, careful to step over a tipped barrel, used oil dried to the floor where it had spilled long ago; the floor here blessedly dry.  

Vortex glanced over his shoulder as he picked his way through the debris with a shrug, Swindle not bothering to answer his team mate, square helm down and nearly pouting.

“I dunno.” Vortex shrugged, as he checked an adjoining hallway for movement. “Let’s not find out.”

 Swindle pulled himself out of his worried stupor enough to glance up and agree with the copter, helm bobbing.

Brawl vented a tired sigh while he stepped around a tall metal barrel with a small crate on top of it as he reached the junction in hallway, his thicker frame not sliding around the tight spaces as easily as the other two and his elbow bumping the small crate, tipping it off.

Brawl gasped, twisting quickly to catch the falling object, his thick digits clasping around the square box quickly, clamping his servos around it. The tank didn’t have time to sigh in relief when the barrel of his alt form caught the side of the handle of the drum, knocking it over.

Vortex and Swindle both froze as the barrel fell over, hitting the ground with a heavy _clang_ , causing even Brawl to wince at the sudden, high pitch noise.

The two Combaticon’s slowly turned, Swindle’s purple optics dark with annoyance, Vortex’s visor flaring as the barrel slowly rolled away. It made an uneven noise as it slowly rolled, an odd, loud mixture of something wet and sloshy as its congealed contents spun, the metal floor grinding against the metal barrel.

The drum slowed to a stop, nearly rolling backwards before coming to a complete stop. Brawl winced again, digits tightening on the metal box, not daring look up at his team mates.

“You’re an idiot.” Swindle dead panned as Brawl’s helm sunk lower, trying to hide from the glaring optics of his team mates, trying to hide from their disappointment. 

Then Brawl dared to raise his helm, fully intending to say that nothing bad had happened at least, that whatever was in the station had not found them, when something snarled from the dark.

The same something slinked from the darkness, green optics glowing softly from inky armour. Unlike the first, slimy creature they met in the last hall way, this creature was sleek looking, armour shiny and healthy.

A second one followed it from the shadows, walking on all fours like an earth feline as they slowly reached the drum. They circled the fallen barrel, poking at it with clawed digits, causing it to roll back and forth ever so slightly.

The second creature nosed at it, sniffing at the lid, a black glossa licking across the slimy metal. It made an unhappy gurgling noise as it drew away, helm shaking in what seemed like disgust. The first creature, the larger of the two, made a soft noise and nosed at the smaller, almost nuzzling at the dark helm.

“No one move.” Swindle murmured as the Combaticons froze at the sight of the two nuzzling creatures, who were all but purring as they rubbed at each other’s faces. 

Brawl clutched at the box, desperate to stay still, studying the creatures before him. These two were nothing like the one from before. They seemed more lethal, dangerous even; more aware as they moved with a predatory grace. Through the darkness of their plating, Brawl could see one bore an Autobot insignia, the other a Decepticon.

It would seem that Shockwave was not picky about his test subjects.

“Brawl.” Vortex said quietly, crimson optics pinned on the creatures, slowly drawing his blaster, hoping he would not be noticed. “Get over here, now. Slowly.”

Brawl took a step forward, forcing the fear of the unknown away as he slowly moved one pede at a time, slowly moving towards his team mates. One creature, he could see, wore an expression of contentment, green optics dim as the other licked at its face.

Green optics brightened when they spotted Brawl slowly creeping away. They actually widened in surprise, a soft noise leaving the creature’s throat before it snarled, alerting its companion. The smaller of the pair leapt over its mate, shoulders hunched high like an animals, broken denta sharp like knives in its mangled mouth.

The second of the midnight creatures spun, spotting Brawl instantly and it crouched low behind the other. They stalked him slowly, bodies low to the ground, snarling, armour flared wide, aggressively.   

Brawl dropped the box, reaching into subspace for his blaster as he backed towards his team mates while they hefted their own weapons.

The smaller snarled again, and moving with surprising agility and speed, it attacked; lunging, its legs pushed forward with unexpected strength, and springing high it aiming for Brawl’s chest. The tank’s battle protocols snapped on line, forcing the Decepticon to raise his weapon and pull the trigger.

The creature snarled as the shot went off, and with Brawl aiming for the creatures head, the black helm exploded as the bright laser light cut through it, sending pieces of metal, organic sludge and old energon spraying out the back of the black helm. Its thick body hit the ground, sliding to a stop at Brawl’s pedes and the larger one behind it dropped to the ground, optics dark and unmoving.

The tank moved his weapon from one creature to the other, not sure which one to take aim at, neither creature moving. Swindle and Vortex moved in close behind their fellow Combaticon, looking over his shoulders in curiosity.

Brawl toed the dead creature, massive hole in its helm, optics lifeless and glossa handing to one side, lolling grotesquely.

“I don’t get it.” Swindle muttered, staring at the dead thing. “Why did this one die?” he glanced up at Vortex. “But that other one didn’t.”

Brawl didn’t bother glancing up as he pulled his toe plate away, the red goo covering the armour. “It’s a zombie.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I shot it in the head, that’s how we kill them.”

“’Kay.” Swindle said softly, staying quiet as to not attract attention, beginning to believe in Brawl’s zombie theory. “Then why did the other one die?”

Three helms popped up to stare at the one that had suddenly dropped dead, not a mark on its shiny, sleek body. “I don’t get it.” The jeep muttered, clutching his blaster tightly. “It just dropped. We didn’t even shoot at it.”

Vortex glanced from the small one with the Decepticon symbol on his shoulder to the larger with the Autobot symbol, and back again. “They were bond mates.” He said quietly, drawing the others attention to himself.

“But, they weren’t of the same faction.” Swindle said, trying and failing to put conviction into his voice. Unsure if he was ready to believe the interrogator’s theory.

Vortex shrugged as he turned away. “It’s Shockwave. You think they had a choice in the matter?”

The interrogator went to turn away, no longer wanting to see what was left of Shockwave’s experiments, forcing away memories of what the scientist had done to him while trapped, helpless in that damned box. The things were dead and they had time to sneak away before something else found them.

Black glossy plating suddenly brushed passed Vortex, shoving him into the wall as two bodies rushed past him. Snarling, the first creature went for Brawl’s leg while the other went for Swindle. Gasping, Vortex’s claws shot out like snakes, clamping down onto one of the creature’s shoulders, causing it to cry out in alarm before it snapped at Swindle.

The jeep had time to turn around just as the creature kicked out at Vortex’s abdomen, forcing all the air from his vents, sending the copter onto his aft with a huff, his helm rebounding off the wall behind him.

Swindle had a chance to throw his servos up as the thing attacked, lunging at the tan Decepticon, landing on the jeeps chest, sending them both to the ground. The con-mech cried out as his back slammed into the ground, small servos clamping around the extended snout, trapping its mouth shut.

The beast snarled and struggled as it tried to force its jaws open, bright green optics glaring down at Swindle, a hungry look pinned on the jeep.

Meanwhile Brawl had been knocked forward, face plates grinding into the unforgiving concrete as the thing tore into the back of the tank’s calf. Plating gave way as wires and tubes were pulled from his frame. Pain blazed hot as every node was set on fire and his sensor net sang in agony.

The tank cried out in pain, voice reduced to static as needle like teeth tore at further plating, scrapping against his softer protoform as claws crushed his ankle and knee, effectively disabling the tank’s leg.

Brawl screamed in agony as hydraulic fluid spread over the floor, mixing with the brightly colored energon that poured from his leg. The creature’s long glossa was cold against his armour as it slurped at the pouring energon, making the same purring noises as the two creatures that had been nuzzling.        

A barbed glossa slipped under his plating, popping more of the living armour from his protoform, wedging it apart in its desperate bid to get to the warm energon that pumped beneath the armour.

Crying out again, Brawl’s engine hitched while his EM flared wide in his distress. “Vortex!” he nearly sobbed out as needle like teeth tore into his leg again, just below the knee.

Something broke within the interrogator as his battle protocols snapped on line at the attack on his gestalt. It sent him barreling past the killing threshold, forcing his mind to become cold and precise; the lethal killer of the Combaticons.

Vortex shot off the floor like a wild animal, leaping over Swindle as he struggled with the second creature, darting for the one that was tearing at Brawl’s plating. “Swindle!” The interrogator barked. “Don’t you let that thing go!”

“Fracking hurry!” Swindle barked back, clamping the thing’s mouth shut harder as claws bit into his shoulders.

Vortex ignored his teammate’s panicked words as he grabbed Brawl’s attacker by the scruff of its neck, yanking it backwards. Brawl howled as the majority of his back leg plating came up with it, leaving his damaged protoform exposed.

The Decepticons interrogator ignored it all as he focused on the struggling creature he had by the neck; its curved spine cracked and snapped as Vortex forced it upright, but it still snapped and struggled to bury its teeth into his frame.

Wrapping one grey arm around its throat, Vortex forced it into a headlock as his other servo snaked its way over the creature’s head.

The one Swindle struggled to contain, fought against him harder, green optics pinned on Vortex as though it knew what the interrogator was about to do.

Vortex’s clawed digits forced their way past decaying lips, clamping between the sharp denta, his own claws biting into the soft _tissue_ between. Then Vortex pulled up for all his worth. The struggling creature in his arms screamed as its jaw broke, the upper part of its head pulled in the wrong direction.

The interrogator kept pulling until its neck broke and the upper part of the head was torn away, blood energon and black slime pouring over Vortex’s servos and spattering across his chest. With a strained grunt from Vortex, the interrogator let the body drop to the ground, twitching.

The thing that snarled at Swindle was still mobile and struggling as Vortex held the severed helm in his slime covered servos, the dark green optics blinking angrily at the sullied Decepticon. Bloodlust still hummed through Vortex as he barked a dry laugh, staring right back into the creature’s optics. “Huh. So you are a zombie.”

Then he crushed the helm in his servos, squashing it together, amused at how the _guts_ of its processor burst from the top the head. The thing that fought with Swindle twitched once before falling limp over the con-mech, its heaver weight pinning the jeep to the ground.

Swindle grunted as the dead weight dropped onto his chest. “Tex, a little help here?”

The interrogator ignored the jeep as he walked to Brawl, who had managed to turn onto his side, gripping his leg close to his body, and crouched next to him. A clawed servo snatched the tank’s wrists and in a deft move, Vortex heaved the squat mech over his shoulder. Rotors resettled along the interrogators back as Brawl moaned low, green helm bouncing by the boxy blue-grey hips as Vortex turned about-face.

He marched back to Swindle, kicking the black creature from his smaller frame before heaving him to his pedes. The interrogator still rode the killing edge, any small noise or anything that would be thought of as a threat would be met with violence, prompting Swindle to stay quiet as the other Decepticon grabbed his wrist.

Without saying a word, Vortex dragged Swindle along the way they were heading, not bothering to ease his way around the debris, instead just plowing through it in his anger, kicking barrels and boxes from his path.

Snarls and purrs were heard from behind them, always behind but slowly getting closer. Swallowing hard, the jeep quickened his pace to be close to Vortex and gathering his courage, Swindle managed to ask the question at the tip of his glossa. “What are we doing? Where are going?”

“Some place safe for a while so we can look at Brawl’s leg.” Vortex said plainly, his pace picking up to an almost shamefully quick speed. “Before he bleeds out.”

Swindle nodded, his servo suddenly clinging to the interrogator’s grey wrist.

The purrs and clicks and growls were getting closer, and Vortex could make out at least six different voices, but if they were in pairs there would be more. At least that’s what the interrogator assumed.

Energon leaked down Vortex’s belly from where the creature had attacked Brawl’s leg, the plating flared wide, and the interrogator could feel the heat from the leg pouring off the damaged limb.

A door, just as sullied and dirty as the rest of the walls caught Vortex’s optics and the interrogator headed right for it, dragging Swindle directly behind him. Vortex only let go when he tried to open the door, causing the Decepticon to snarl.

The door was stuck as he tried to open it, the muck causing it to stick to the door jamb. Their hunters were slowly getting closer, the energon blood from Brawl’s body slowly leaking down over his grey plates.

With a snarl, Vortex managed to wrench the door open, strings of red goo stuck from the half open door to the door frame. The interrogator stepped aside, shoving Swindle inside first before he followed him in. The door was slammed shut behind still rotors, and Vortex hoped that the organic stuff that covered the wall would mask any smell they would have left behind. He could only hope that these abominations didn’t find them in the small maintenance room.

White light glowed weakly from above them as they entered the closet that was barely big enough to fit all three of them; the purring and chirps stopping momentarily at the door. Vortex ignored it as he set Brawl down, bloodied servos clutching at the tanks leg and yanking it back into his lap.

Swindle sat by Brawl’s shoulders, laying the green helm in his own lap as the interrogator inspected the wound. Rust already covered the damaged area and was spreading at an alarming rate. It caused Vortex to frown behind his battle mask and Swindle to shift uncomfortably.

It should not have set it that quickly, nor already be flaking at the edges of wound. “Tex.” Brawl softly whined as he writhed uncomfortably. “It burns.” He murmured, his leg becoming numb but the wound burning hot as infection set in.

Swindle stretched over the tank’s body to take a look at the wound, frowning at what he saw. Oil and energon was still leaking out at a slow, steady pace, but already it looked almost congealed. Black rot, almost like an organic infection, was spreading from the rust at the wounds, spreading towards the knee.

Vortex poked at what looked like red rust with the point of a claw, only to draw away just as quickly, for what appeared to be rust seemed to be the same organic fuzz that covered everything else on the ship.

The other two jumped slightly when something scratched at the door, causing Vortex and Swindle to draw their weapons, ready to open fire. But nothing came through the door, whatever was out there merely sniffed and pawed, almost confused as to where their quarry had gone. Vortex found himself counting his lucky stars that the creatures were not smart enough to figure out how to open doors.

Attention turning back to Brawl’s leg, Vortex frowned behind his battle mask, thumb running over the blackness that was also spreading down to Brawl’s ankle. “It’s almost like an infection.”

Swindle glanced up, shoulders hitching nervously. “And what happens if this infection makes it to his chest?”

Vortex glanced back down at the leg. “Brawl, in these zombie story things. How does the infection spread?”

Dim optics on-lined, watching Vortex weakly. “Through bites.”

Vortex nodded, servos slowly snaking up to the tanks hip, passed the spreading infection, still cold inside as he coasted along the killing edge. “If we go with movie rules then, how do you stop the infection?”

Red optics fought to stay on-line as energon loss began to take its toll. “Dunno.” He muttered weakly. “I did see one movie where they cut the arm off. That could…”

Vortex didn’t wait for anything else nor did he give any warning as claws wrapped around the chunky hip and he twisted, snapping the joint. Pain burst hot and bright through the haze of Brawl’s mind and the tank gasped and jerked, a cry of pain breaking past his clenched denta. Vortex’s servo shot out, clamping around the tanks vocaliser, silencing the second cry of pain as the interrogator tore the leg from the wide hips.

Large servos clamped down on to Swindle’s servos, clenching them as tightly as he could, jerking in pain as the sensors in his leg were ripped apart. Vortex watched his gestalt mate twitch and writhe in agony with an air of indifference, servo still clamped to his throat, the other surprisingly tight to the tank’s wrist.

Swindle made a small, soft noise as he clung to his team mate, the combiner program humming open and full of worry between the trio.

It wasn’t until Brawl stopped writhing and quieted down to hard panting as he lay limp in Swindle’s hold, did Vortex release the other’s wrist and vocaliser. His attention turned to the flowing energon that pooled around the missing limb, forcing Vortex to work quickly and close off the torn lines.

Brawl lay in Swindle’s arms, optics pale in shock, mouth open as he panted, frame shaking at the unexpected pain of having a limb torn off.  Swindle sent quiet thanks that when he had been attacked, the monster had only used claws and not denta. He didn’t even want to contemplate what Vortex would have done to him should he have been bitten instead.

Reaching into his subspace, Vortex pulled a cube of energon and handed it to Swindle. “Help him drink this.” The interrogator ordered as he picked up the dead limb, curious.

The jeep lifted the energon to the shaken tank’s lips, carefully tipping the liquid into the other’s mouth. “What are you looking at?” Swindle asked softly.      

Vortex held the limb out into the light, showing Swindle what he had found, fear spiking through the killing edge for the first time in his life. Yet the interrogator managed to keep his tone smooth and cold, his EM close to his frame. “Look. The infection is still spreading even though the leg is dead.”    

Swindle’s lips tipped into a worried frown. The jeep was unable to keep the fear from his EM as well as Vortex could. The limb was still turning black instead of the usual grey of a dead Cybertronian limb, red spider web like veins spreading.

The jeep managed to swallow and blinking at the limb, he tugged Brawl closer to his frame, fear spiking hard. “How is this even possible?” he managed to rasp.

Studying the leg for a beat longer, Vortex shrugged as he tossed the limb away. The copter turned around, his back to his team mates, rotors completely still despite the unease in his spark. “I don’t know.”

His blaster was back in his servo, body tense as the interrogator half expected something to burst into the small maintenance room they were taking refuge in. Swindle drew Brawl, who was still stunned, closer to his chest. The con-mech hesitated for a moment before shuffling closer to Vortex, quietly tucking himself and Brawl against Vortex’s back. 

The rotary stilled for a moment, red optics gazing over his shoulder to glower at his smaller gestalt mates before relaxing, optics turning back to the door. “As soon as the noises quieten down and Brawl comes around a bit, we move again.”

The copter paused as something scratched at the door, the purring noise loud in the small room. Swindle’s comm. line crackled to life. ::We need to find Brawl a med bay.::

The jeep nodded, carefully sandwiching Brawl between his chest and Vortex’s back. The lightest of Combaticons had never been so grateful that Vortex had not mocked him for his shaking plates as he curled himself and Brawl into a small ball against his back.

Vortex was secretly grateful that his two team mates were curled against his back, reminding him he wasn’t alone in this slag.

***

Onslaught sat, once they had barricaded the door, with his helm in his servo, quietly snarling. “Alright, run this by me one more time.” His helm tipped up to meet Blast Off’s. “I don’t quite believe what you’re saying.”

Hot air rushed from Blast Off’s vents. “Shockwave had been trying to create a biological weapon. He was splicing different kinds of organic DNA and Cybertronian CNA. The Cybertronian frame or body type is nothing but the carrier for the virus that Shockwave created.”

Sighing, Onslaught rubbed at his masked face. As smart as he was, he didn’t understand most of this science crap, didn’t get it, but he tried to endure, tried to understand as he waved Blast Off on.

“This virus Shockwave created, it really is a thing of genius. Twisted, but genius.” The shuttle sighed, the heavy weight of his weapon in his servo was a comfort. “The idea was that the drones would ferry the virus into the ranks of the enemy. It destroys the processor, shutting down all unnecessary functions, such as emotions and memories. The body is run by this red sludge that the virus produces, so energon intake is useless.” The shuttled paused. “They feel no pain, have no need to fuel and their only desire is to hunt, kill, maim. Thus spreading the virus to those who manage to survive.”

“The same red sludge that is covering the entire space station?” Onslaught asked, his own weapon a small comfort.

Blast Off nodded, causing Onslaught to continue. “Then the entire station is contaminated. What are our chances of contamination then?”

The shuttle shrugged. “Low. Cybertronians are only infected through the bite of an infected mech. The virus is carried in the oral lubrication secretion points and is injected when someone is bitten. It moves rapidly from the bite wound and spreads to the rest of the body until it reaches the processor where it does its worst damage and houses itself. It will also create the red organic sludge that covers the body, which is later converted into fuel.”

Blast Off glanced at the screen. “He even made several different kinds of virus, one in particular he only gave to bonded pairs, or at least pairs he forced to bond, which forced physical alterations.” The optics hidden behind the visor caught Onslaught’s. “They became more like animals than mechs.”

Onslaught heaved another sigh. “How do we kill them?”

“The spark is already dead, the frame is essentially reanimated because of this virus, and the virus produces the slime that the frame can run _off_ of.” Optics glanced back at the data screen that continued to download. “From what I can see, the only way to destroy any of them is to destroy the processor. No processor, no virus.”

Onslaught nodded, still not quiet believing what Blast Off was telling him. But the commander knew one thing, his team was missing with a lot of infected creatures, and only primus knew what was happening to them.

Standing suddenly, the commander turned to the door, marching with purpose. “I’m going to find the others.” He barked over his shoulder.

Blast Off nodded, on his pedes and right behind him. “Good. Let’s go find those idiots before they get killed or infected.”

Onslaught spun around, EM flaring hard. “You are staying here. You’re our only hope off this scrap heap and someone needs to stay and ensure the data continues to download.”

Hostility flared through Blast Off, his EM snapping against Onslaught’s. “Forget it!” he retorted, surprising his commander in his forwardness. “We’ve already divided our forces in half. To split again, would be foolish. You’re going to need someone out there watching your back. Besides.” The shuttle snarled. “The data will be fine!”

“Blast Off!” Onslaught began, fists clenching as rage bubbled.

The shuttle’s helm shook no, unusually firm in his request to accompany his commander. “This is not a game Onslaught. If you are hurt you will likely die out there without assistance, and for all you know, those three are already hurt.”

Onslaught snarled. “I should be so honoured you care so much!”

The commander was surprised when a fair amount of hurt flashed through the flickering EM, but it was quickly concealed as the shuttle’s fists clenched. “Yes, because Primus forbid a gestalt unit should care for one another and be a fully functioning unit!” Those words surprised Onslaught more than the hurt. “Besides, without you, we don’t have Bruticus. And without Bruticus, we are all useless to Megatron.”

Onslaught rolled his optics with a sigh. “Fine. If you feel the need to be so _dramatic_ , let’s go then. We need to find the others before they get themselves killed.”

Blast Off nodded, falling in line behind Onslaught as the commander eased their barricade of tables away from the door. Peeking through the gap in the door, Onslaught carefully stepped past the threshold of the main control room.

The shuttle followed his commander out, the door sliding shut behind him. “I am hardly dramatic.”

Onslaught glanced over his shoulder, smirk on his hidden lips. “It’s almost as if you have been taking lessons from Vortex.”

Blast Off glared at his commander. He knew there was a grin hidden, and heaving an exasperated sigh, Blast Off quietly followed his commander into the dark halls of the space station, hoping his team mates hadn’t gotten too badly hurt.

***

Peering around the corner of the med bay, Vortex finally let out a soft vent of relief. Shouldering the door open further, the interrogator stepped inside, blaster raised, optics alert. The trek to the med bay had been a slow one with Swindle practically carrying Brawl while Vortex took point.

The trio had only come out of their little hiding spot after the noises had stopped completely, and the things had gone off to chase something else. Yet soft hissing and slithering noises had followed them the entire time, causing Swindle to flinch and walk uncomfortably close to Vortex’s back.

Swindle may have not liked to admit it, but he was scared. These creatures had managed to drag Brawl down and do enough damage that he was now out of commission, and they even had Vortex nervous.  

Stepping further into the room, Vortex's red optics scanned the area in a slow pattern, ensuring they were really alone

The walls were covered in dried sprays of energon and bloody servo prints. It was enough to make Swindle shudder and tug Brawl's large frame closer to his own. 

"Get him on the berth." Vortex barked, slightly further into the room than the others, back to his teammates as he dug through on old cabinet of tools and drugs. 

As Swindle eased Brawl onto the hard, unpadded metal, Vortex pulled out something in a glass vial. Something neon pink with flecks of gold which made the interrogator huff a laugh. "Boosters." He shrugged as he sub-spaced them. "Maybe we can trade them to Mixie when we get home." 

"You don't even know if they're safe." Swindle hissed as he lay Brawl out. 

A groan slipped passes the tank’s lips, his helm lolling to one side. 

Vortex shrugged, turning back to the berth, tools jumbled together in his servos.    

"Hence the reason we're giving it to Mixmaster." 

Swindle glowered at the interrogator, knowing he was grinning behind that blasted mask of his as he tipped his helm down to inspect the damage.

The jeep shook his helm, pulling a cube of energon from sub-space. “Here Brawl, drink this.”

The red visor light up weakly as the battered battle mask drew away, a sloppy smile spread weakly across the tanks face. “Thanks Swin.”

The jeep glanced down as Vortex began to close the lines in Brawl’s hip more efficiently, ensuring that nothing leaked until they could get him back to Earth and to Hook.

“Uhh. You’re welcome Brawl.” Swindle shrugged, helping the tank take a long draught of energon, the soft uncomfortable feeling in his chest spreading.

Vortex rolled his optics as he carefully closed another line, when something high pitched squealed from outside the hall, like nails on a chalk board. It caused the interrogator to sigh in frustration, helm dropping to his chest in annoyance.

Brawl and Swindle froze, frames stiffening as the screeching grew louder, slowly coming towards the door of the med bay. The loud noise suddenly stopped as whatever was making it stopped, but the loud thumping of heavy pedes continued to grow louder, the heavy venting of a laboured body drawing closer to the med bay.

Brawl struggled to sit up, one servo clamping down on Swindle’s arm. “What do you think that is?” Vortex sighed as he drew his helm back up, glowering at the closed door. “It sounds big.” Brawl whispered, quietly pushing into Swindle’s chest. “What do we do?”

The gears in his exposed hip shifted and moved in an effort to move his missing leg.

Heaving another sigh, Vortex glowered at the door a beat longer before he turned and scooped Brawl up off the table, tossing the mech over his shoulder like a heavy sack. Clawed digits clamped down on Swindle’s neck and Vortex forced the jeep to walk, quietly muttering to himself.

He was sick of running! Sick of hiding in the dark like a frightened organic animal hiding behind its dam’s legs! He was a Combaticon dammit, and he would not be cowed!

He forced Swindle to walk to the storage closet and yanked it open before he shoved the con-mech inside. The jeep spun to glare at the interrogator. “What are you doing?”

Vortex didn’t answer, instead he shoved the tank into Swindle’s arms. “Stay in here.” He said coldly, before he slammed the door shut. Turning away from the door, the interrogator flared his claws wide and rolled his shoulder. He was in the mood to mangle something.

He needed to sink his claws into plating and scrape them against the protoform and a grin spread behind his battle mask as the doors slowly drew back, and something large stumbled in.

It wasn’t black, like the small hunting pairs or rusted like the first thing they encountered. It was covered head to pede in the red fuzz that covered every wall and floor of the ship and its optics were milky white, oozing some disgusting muck, but its frame un-rusted and whole.

It stared at Vortex, a mouth full of broken denta grinned back at the interrogator, something brown leaking from the corner of its mouth. Vortex smirked back, claws clicking softly against his grey thigh.

Then Vortex attacked. Dropping low and moving fast, he charged the monster, excitement pumping through his lines.

Snarling, the creature swung low for the interrogator, its own bear like claws taking gouges out of the floor. Vortex weaved around the massive palm, his smaller claws tearing into the creature’s softer waist, relishing in the feeling of scrapping against the almost mushy protoform.

Howling, the Combaticon’s opponent spun around, back handing the Decepticon across the back of his helm. Snarling as he stumbled, Vortex tossed himself into a roll as he got away from the animal and its massive claws.

The creature tracked him, charging like a wild beast, snarling, the brown sludge now flying from the side of its mouth. Massive claws swinging towards him, Vortex dipped and dodged every attack, laughing as he lured the thing away from the closet where Brawl and Swindle hid.

The beast cried in rage as Vortex danced around it, claws shooting out and tearing into unprotected joints, laughing as he ran in circles. The interrogator cackled as he managed to get behind his attacker, lunging at the creature’s massive back, digging flat pedes into shoulder blades that stuck out high from its back, claws on one servo curled under and into any plating they could while the other servo tore at the back of the exposed neck.

Black goo oozed from the wounds Vortex tore into the massive frame, sticking to his servos like glue as the creature screamed, spraying bloodish fluid across the copters chest and across his face. Vortex only laughed harder as the monster tried to buck him off, thrashing around in circles, its square helm rearing and flaying.

It reached up, claws biting almost lightly into Vortex’s plating as it grasped the interrogator by the helm. With a grunt of effort, Vortex was ripped from the shoulders he clung to and slammed into the ground, flat on his back.

His whole frame slammed into the unforgiving surface with a grunt, something popping inside and the warm rush of fresh energon flooded his shoulders, trapped between his armour and protoform. The beast stalked closer, and crawling low on all fours it hovered over Vortex, jagged denta hovering over the interrogator’s helm.

Coughing, Vortex tasted his own energon on his glossa and the interrogator grinned behind his battle mask, swallowing the energon back down.   

“That was fun.” He rasped as the creature bared his denta.

Pulling his rifle from sub-space, he buried the barrel under the dark helm that hovered. The creature’s mouth opened wide, the stench of rot thick between them. Vortex didn’t even bother to close his vents, so lost in the madness of his mind he enjoyed the scent of death, the thrill of the hunt.

Laughing softly, he pulled the trigger, laser fire bursting from the top if the creature’s helm, destroying the processor. The heavy frame fell onto the Combaticon, pinning him to the floor, turning the soft laughter into a maniacal cackle.

Squirming beneath the lifeless monster, Vortex relished in the feel of life luids dripping over his frame. Primus he missed the thrill of the kill.

Laughing once more, the interrogator managed to wriggle his way out from under the dead weight, the black slime covering his entire front, acting as lubrication to aid his escape. Vortex suddenly felt high, drunk on madness, dizzy with insanity.

Once free of his attacker, Vortex studied it for a moment, its dark plates and the slime covering its body. Shrugging, the Decepticon turned away from the dead beast, stepping over it and slowly walking back to the closet.

He yanked it open, the dim light of the room flooding into the small space, causing both Brawl and Swindle to flinch and draw towards one another. Vortex ignored it, ignored their weakness as he bent and heaved Brawl up, pulling the tank to his chest. They were in private, there was no one else to bear witness to his rare moment of gestalt kindness.

Swindle was slow to follow, sluggishly to rising to his pedes, not entirely sure if what he was seeing was real but he didn’t question it, merely following Vortex in silence as they walked across the room.

Humming a happy tune, mind settled after his bout of insanity, Vortex smoothly walked back to the untouched berth, laying his team mate across it. Plucking a rag from his sub-space, Vortex half turned to Swindle, grin curling around his hidden lips.

“Do ya mind finishing closing the lines in Brawl’s hip?”

The interrogator didn’t bother to wait for the other to answer, instead he turned his attention back to his chest, humming his happy tune as he wiped his armour down, ignoring the energon he still coughed up from the attack on his back.

Purple optics watched in a stunned state for a moment longer before they turned to the damaged hip of the tank, letting the copter clean himself up, letting him relish in his insanity a little longer.

That, if anything, would get Brawl and Swindle out of this hell hole alive.

***

Blast Off and Onslaught walked side by side in silence. Worry and discomfort flickered between them, an unspoken feeling that briefly licked at tight EM fields. Both Onslaught and Blast Off had tried sending comm. requests to the rest of their gestalt, but each time they were met with the same wall of static.

Although neither of the large Decepticon’s were willing to admit it, they worried for their missing team mates, they had no idea what was stalking them on the station. Neither did they know how to kill whatever they were, and the possibility for infection was too high to even hazard a guess of the likely hood of them being infected.

The blocked hallway they found themselves in had unnerved the commander and the shuttle, and the lack of creatures attacking them actually alarmed them, causing Blast Off’s winglets to shift restlessly and Onslaught’s cannons to hum in readiness.

The scratches on the door before them gave the pair reason to worry as something clearly had been trying to get in to the room beyond but it gave Blast Off reason to hope that the missing trio had all made it to the other side, that whatever had been after them had not gotten them.  

It had been Onslaught who had the thought, that if one of them _had_ been injured, they would have headed to the only med bay on the space station. With the main hallway now blocked, the quickest way to the med bay would be through the labs.

So the pair walked in silence, sensors straining, searching for any life source, audials tuned to their highest setting, waiting for any attack, any noise. But nothing came, nothing even made a noise in the overly silent space station; the only sounds coming from their humming systems and their pedes squelching on the ground.

Blast Off heaved an annoyed sigh. “Where are these… _monsters_?”

A yellow visor caught the shuttles dark one, helm canting. “My guess. Chasing Vortex, Brawl and Swindle.”

Blast Off’s frown deepened, his grip tightening on his weapon as his winglets shifted nervously. It would take a near miracle to find the others. Instead of praying, Blast Off shouldered his blaster, pumped more power to his leg canons, and mentally prepped himself for battle.   

***

Brawl lay limp across Swindle’s back as the jeep struggled to carry him; the wound to his side still fresh and hurting as they followed Vortex through the labyrinth of halls.

Large arms crossed over the jeeps chest as Brawl was piggy backed, his face buried into the crook of Swindle’s throat, the jeep’s fear bleeding through even the blocks of the gestalt bond.

Vortex’s steps were sure and careful, blaster primed and ready in one servo, claws of the other flared wide and ready. The few things that had come at them, had quickly been dispatched by the interrogator’s claws.

Vortex was still lost to his battle protocols, too deep in the killing threshold to even begin to mentally climb out of the darkness of his mind. Yet, for once neither Brawl nor Swindle had said anything, it had been the well of madness that had kept them alive.

It had also been Vortex who had ordered them to cut through Shockwave’s old labs, as time was running out. They were already over three and a half hours into their foolish endeavour, and it was time to get back to the others. The games were over, the fun was gone with Brawl’s leg and Swindle’s side so badly injured, it was time to leave.

Despite not wanting to go to the labs, Swindle had said nothing, too afraid of what was in the dark to go anywhere without Vortex, and Brawl was too incoherent to know what to do. So they had followed the interrogator, the only one who had yet to take any serious damage; but even Swindle could hear how his vents had become short rasps and hacking coughs that drew energon from inside. He could hear how his ventilation systems crackled as they slowly filled with liquid from an internal injury to his back.  

That slam into the ground had done more damage than Vortex was willing to admit. If he fought through it now, made it back to Onslaught, he could milk his injury for all its worth. He had, after all, protected his team mates from hoards of zombies and managed to keep them alive. Despite doing it to calm the demands of the combiner coding, Vortex thought that at least earned him a survival frag.

He had done well, in his opinion, and deserved a reward.

All they had to do now was cut through the labs, get back to Blast Off and Onslaught and get the hell off this station. Then, _then_ , Vortex would get a one on one session with his large commander and his chunky thighs.

The first door to the laboratories came up too fast for Swindle, yet not fast enough for Vortex.

Claws slid across each other in delight, the noise of a sharp edge gliding across a sharp edge. Licking energon from a thin lower lip, Vortex grinned. “Let’s go boys. This should be fun.”

Swindle shifted uneasily, gripping Brawl a little tighter, the tank clinging to the jeep’s shoulders.

“I don’t see how this will be fun.” Swindle muttered as Vortex slowly entered the labs, forcing the door open to slip inside.

Swindle hesitated a moment before following the interrogator inside, hoping he wouldn’t rue the decision to follow Vortex into the lab that Shockwave and once run from.  

Dim light blinked on overhead as the stations A.I. picked up movement in the labs, most of the light bars had burnt out long ago, casting long shadows across the dark stainless steel floor. 

The red mold had not grown in the labs, Vortex noticed with disinterest, so there was nothing to mask the horror of the room. 

Four metal berths were set up side by side in the center of the room, thick metal straps were open and unlocked, once used to strap down unwilling victims. As the trio of Combaticons neared, Vortex could see dried, crusted energon flaking off the steel and deep gouges torn into the berth itself where fingers would have sat. Swindle shuddered as he saw the berths, glad it was someone else and not him. Vortex then twisted his helm, looking at the torn and destroyed cages along the walls, the chains that hung between the rows of massive cages, still, covered in energon. 

It gave Vortex a moment of pause as he stared at the torn doors, the bars bent outward like sharp jagged teeth. 

"Something got out." He said softly, the tip of his claw fingering the jagged edge. 

Brawls helm lay weakly against Swindle's shoulder as the jeep canted his helm. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the bars, they're all bent outwards. Something clawed its way out, not in." 

Purple optics stared at the bars, anger flashing through the smaller Combaticon. "That's great! Just fragging great! All we need is stupid zombies and monsters!" 

Vortex turned away from the cages, optics cold as he glared. "Shut up Swindle, before you attract something else!" 

The jeep glared back as the copter turned, continuing the trip through the labs, mouth working in frustration that hid his fear. "If I get eaten it'll be your fault." he hissed quietly. Trying not to stomp after his gestalt mate and attracted more of those things. 

As they went deeper into the labs, going through another small door way, Vortex snorted. “It’ll be your big mouth that gets us all killed.” He glanced over his shoulder, odd tanks with glowing green liquid lighting up the darkness before him, haloing around Vortex. “But not to worry there Swin. While they’re eating you, I’ll grab Brawl and run.”

The copter shrugged ruefully as he turned back around, engine hitching in distress at the movement. “Ons would be mad at me if I let you both die.” He said lightly, relishing in the glare the other gave him from behind.

The copter slowly walked to the large tanks, claws tapping on the glass as he examined the creatures inside. “And if I have to pick one of you, I’m going to take the one who’s less annoying.”

Swindle glared again, purple optics glancing at the whatever was inside the tank. It was more organic than Cybertronian. It consisted of a turbo fox frame with a coating of dead pelt which hung off the malformation in hunks, organic eyes staring blankly while metal claws tore through the soft flesh of its paws.

The jeep shuddered, glancing back at the small cages that lined the walls in the other room. “Do you think that’s what was in there?” he asked quietly, suddenly moving ever so slightly closer to Vortex.

The interrogator studied the dead turbo fox turned organic horror house for a moment longer before turning away, a shudder running through his frame at the thought of being part of an experiment where organic bits were added into your frame. The idea to him was worse than the Detention Center, where he had been trapped with no hope of escape, bodiless and at Shockwave’s mercy.

He’d rather be trapped again than be spliced with a gooey organic’s body. Vortex didn’t pretend to understand why Shockwave had done it; he had given up trying to understand the bastard’s mind a long time ago.

A soft clicking of nails on a metal floor drew Vortex’s attention as something shadowy moved through the murky light. It was low to the ground and had pieces dragging from it. Something else called to it, like the barking laugh of a hyena.

Vortex sighed, the ache between his shoulders suddenly felt sharp and pulsing, sucking the energy from him. Why could they not simply cross through the labs without incident? Why, just once, couldn’t luck just be on his side?

More of the dead turbo foxes lurked in the shadows by the door they came from, and Vortex was disappointed with himself that he had not heard them before. More likely, they had stayed in the shadows waiting for them to venture further into the labs with no hope of escape. Vortex squared his shoulders, claws flaring as he tightened his grip on his blaster. A snarling grin cut across his mouth and Vortex felt himself descending back into the well of madness, relishing in the feeling of the moments before battle. The near silent quiet as the enemy closed in.

“Swindle.” The rotary grinned, optics tracking the low creatures that surrounded them. “Head for the second door. Go through the next door and the exit should be on the left.”

Purple optics swung back to Vortex, fear very real in them. “But.”

The interrogators rotors flared out behind him, an instinct to make himself look bigger, more intimidating. “I’d get going.” His voice was soft, almost mocking towards the things that stalked them. “Before they block you in.”

The con-mech watched his gestalt mate for a brief moment, noticing that despite the interrogator’s attempt at looking larger, more aggressive, his rotors actually drooped lower than normal. Vortex was tired and probably more damaged then he was letting on. “Tex?”

“Run you idiot.” The interrogator hissed, annoyed that Swindle was not yet running, drawing the things after him so Vortex could pick them off. “Or I’ll shoot you down myself.”

Purple optics held a moment longer before Swindle turned and ran as best he could with Brawl on his back, the tank drifting in and out of consciousness.

The sudden movement drew the attention of most of the creatures, just as Vortex knew it would, causing the interrogator to smirk. Hefting his weapon up, arm straight and true, Vortex began killing. Laser fire burst from his blaster in rapid succession, hitting their marks dead on, the small canine helms exploding, sending their tiny bodies slamming into the ground with a dull wet _thwack_.

Vortex laughed as he shot, energon running hot through his lines as his coolant tried to cool his over taxed systems down. The packs of turbo foxes turned their attention onto him, charging in a mass horde, trying to force Vortex back.     

The interrogator didn’t back down, he held his ground until his blaster over heated and was forced to cool down. He dropped his weapon, not even bothering to sub-space it and threw caution to the wind as he charged the canine like creatures that charged at him.

His claws slashed through lighter plating and organic sludge with ease, taking gouges of hunking organic mass and protoform metal from the creatures that came at him. When they lunged at him high, he didn’t bother ducking, and instead knocked them to the ground where he stomped on their small helms.

Old energon and black slime splattered across his weary frame, sinking into his joints as he moved, sludge spattering across his visor. Vortex moved on instinct, did the only thing he could to survive and just kept killing. Hacking and slashing everything that came at him, barely taking a moment to wipe the mess from his visor so he could see.

These creatures were smart, smarter than the hunting pairs and the monster they first encountered. They learned, they could problem solve on a basic level, and they watched as their dark plated brethren fell to the spinning interrogator and his slashing claws, and they clicked to each other, a plan to bring the larger creature down.

They moved as one, charging headlong, helms down at the Decepticon as his back was turned. Vortex had been caught off guard when two of them threw themselves at his chest, moving full pelt into his frame.

He caught them with a grunt, but the momentum had him stumbling backwards, falling onto his back as their claws tore into his plates. Snarling, Vortex grabbed a hold of one snout and the other’s ragged ear, jerking their helms and snapping jaws away from this frame, thick globs of brownish white drool dripped heavily onto his visor and sinking behind his battle mask, slimy and cold.

Front claws tore at his shoulders and chest, claw tips touching his protoform, spreading fire from the softer steel. Their back claws tore into his stomach plating, ripping it from his frame, puncturing his main reservoir tank. Fresh energon poured from his trembling frame while agony tore through him as the dead turbo foxes continued to tear into his body. With a broken snarl, Vortex managed to get his damaged pedes under his body and forced himself to roll, tucking his rotors close to his back.

Pinning the two snarling, snapping creatures under his weakening frame, his own claws pressing into their throats and he tore at tubing, trying to crush their throats in order to pop their helms off. As he did, something snarled and leapt onto his back, teeth biting deep into his rotor hub.

Other dead turbo foxes circled slowly, like sharks in the water, blood red optics glowing deeply from the dark. Their barking laugh mocking Vortex as back legs continued to tear into his belly and the one on his back tore at his rotor hub, ripping some of his rotor blades clean off.

Energon poured faster onto the ones beneath him, and Vortex knew he would die. He would be torn apart by the organic turbo foxes that cackled like hyenas and wheezed with dead organic lungs. Vortex pinned the two under him a little tighter and they howled as their helms did as he had hoped, popping from their shoulders. With processors still intact, the helms still snapped at him as their bodies went limp.

Arms finally failing, giving out from under him, Vortex landed face first into their bloody bodies, smearing more of the black goo across his battle mask, seeping in and joining the cold drool already sticking to his face.

Vortex did not utter a sound as the creature at his back further tore into his damaged rotor hub,                    desperately digging its way to his pulsing spark. The laughing around him grew louder as the other turbo foxes waited for their brother to get to the sweet nectar of his spark energy.

Another dared to get close, slinking low to the ground as it approached his helm, thin glossa licking at its maw. Vortex groaned in annoyance and twisted his face away, to look the other way as the creature sniffed at his battle mask, delicate glossa lapping at his dented battle mask.

The creature made an annoyed noise, clawed paw stepping on his helm to pin it to the ground as it continued to sniff at his masked face.  A thin, decaying glossa, swollen and purple, dripping in the same brown goo, wormed its way past his battle mask, leaving a heavy wet trail down the side of his face.  It caused Vortex to shudder as he tried to find the strength to fight backs, trying to get its glossa out from behind his mask. The creature’s ever moving glossa weaved a disgusting trail to his mouth, the small barbs on the slick appendage causing small scratches in his face. Vortex clamped his mouth shut as the thin appendage tried to probe at the soft silicon that covered his facial structure, the pointed tip of the glossa slipping past the interrogator’s lips.  

Vortex clenched his denta harder together, his optics slipped offline as the pain grew like fire along his limbs, digits and toe plates going numb with energon loss. At least this time, he wouldn’t see them tear his spark from his body when they ripped it from him.

The loud noise of a Gatling gun suddenly tore through the silence, its copper jacketed bullets tearing through the soft flesh of the thing on his back, the turbo fox flying off with a scream and a spatter of blood.

The bullets tore through the one by his helm, it coughed up blood and energon as its glossa slipped out from behind Vortex’s battle mask, a cry of agony gurgling from his throat before it died.

Red optics slowly came back online, hazy and weak and the interrogator smirked. There was only one mech on the Combaticon team who enjoyed the feel of a massive, modified Gatling gun in his servos, the kickback that fought him, forcing him to use his extreme strength to control the weapon.

If there was one thing humans did right, they could use imagination to make weapons like that one. It had prompted his gestalt mate to create one, just like what humans used. Only, he did it better.

The creatures howled around him, the mocking laughter exchanged for rage. They tried to charge the mech, but he coolly mowed them down with the spray of bullets. Heavy, sure footsteps brought the larger Combaticon to Vortex, the shell casings raining down over the copters prone form, pinging off his damaged armour.

A massive arm curled around the interrogator’s damaged belly, the high pitched buzz of the gun never stopping as the larger mech hoisted him to his pedes. The mech behind him growled as he was set on his shaky pedes, muttering something that sounded like _idiot._ Vortex laughed hazily as the shooting stopped for a moment, allowing the interrogator to see the slick mess of dead bodies around him.

Suddenly Vortex was being lifted again, a little more gently once the larger mech saw the damage to his abdominal plates, and turned towards the mech’s frame, arm tucked under his aft to support his weight. Laying weakly against teal armour, Vortex relished in the heat of his Commander’s frame as Onslaught began to back out of the room.

The Gatling gun that was held in one servo, whined almost softly, barrels spinning lazily as the commander kept it warmed up and primed.

Vortex lost the battle with the lack of energon, his vision blacking out, knowing that Onslaught at least would get him back to some place safe.

Something cried out, high pitched. It was a different cry from the others, almost like a calling for help, but Vortex passed out before he heard the answering call.

***

When Vortex came too again, he was facing a wall, away from his team. He could hear Brawl and Swindle arguing while rough servos reached over him and closed the damaged lines in his belly.

He could feel the energon line in his arm, pumping their life substance straight into his system and he could feel every ounce of agony that burned at his back and belly. Combaticons never carried numbing agents, they didn’t have the room for it. Besides they had other things to worry about.

He heard Brawl whimper. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

Vortex’s rotor hub felt hot, burning on his back like a hot poker, or an energon rod that had been held in place too long.

“He’s not going to die.” Onslaught snapped from above, his large, rough servo pausing inside his belly, the torch that he was using to close the crack to his tank, a tight ball of hurt.

“He’s going to change.” Blast Off rumbled further away, and Vortex could just imagine the shuttle leaning against the wall, arms crossed and grim. “He was bitten, that’s how it’s spread. Just look at his rotor hub, it’s already turning black and fuzzy.”

A sudden bolt of fear shot through Vortex at that. He didn’t want to be like that, like them, those things. There had to be a way, a way for him to survive. Onslaught was smart, he would figure it out. He or Blast Off. They wouldn’t let him die.

Vortex stretched after the small welder was pulled away from his tank, red visor blinking online, grinning up at his commander, battle mask gone. “I always knew you’d be the type that would take advantage Ons.” He mocked weakly, optics dim.

Onslaught stilled over him, the other two stopped their endless bickering from behind Vortex’s prone form, his words weaker than the interrogator would have liked.

Onslaught swatted his team mate’s helm gently, words rough. “Shut up you idiot. Save your energy for something more useful than running your mouth.”      

Vortex chuckled, the acidic stench of the welder's smoke thick around him.  His vents still hurt, filled partly with energon, rasping and bubbling in his chest. His helm spun, vision tilting when he tried to sit up, his damaged rotors and hub burning hotter than before, the heat spreading rapidly through the shaft into his frame, causing him groan in pain. Weariness kept him down on the berth. 

"He's going to change." Blast Off said again, more conviction to his tone. "It's not safe to keep him around." 

"Like a zombie?" Brawl asked meekly, his own tone hazy and weak, likely from energon loss. 

Blast Off heaved a sigh from behind Vortex while Onslaught moved behind the rotary who still lay on his side. 

Swindle snarled softly, "Not like a zombie!" he snapped. "And you don't know for sure if he's going to change! Brawl didn't!" 

"Brawl also has no leg." Blast Off snapped quietly, the cracking of knuckles oddly loud in the quiet room as the shuttle balled his fists. 

Glancing away from the wall, Vortex looked up and back to his commander, frown tugging on his lips. "I can hear you, you know!" he snapped. "Where are we anyways?"

A massive servo lay around Vortex's helm, gently twisting it to face the dark wall again. "Workers quarters close to the labs." 

The massive servo stayed where it was, Onslaught's thumb gentle on his cheek. 

Processor foggy from energon loss and pain, Vortex let it be, not nearly as concerned with the ministrations of the servo as he should have been. 

"Vortex." Onslaught's deep voice was unusually soft from above his helm, his other servo gently gripping his rotor hub. "Tell the story about when you punched Ironhide in the face.” 

Confusion cut through the haze, prompting the copter to look up at his commander. Onslaught's servo caught his helm and forced it back to the wall. 

"Why?" His remaining rotors flicked at his back nervously, catching the thick, prodding digits. 

"Just do it." Onslaught ordered, voice still low as Blast Off came to stand by his curled legs. 

"Kay. Sure, whatever." The interrogator fought to keep his worry from his EM, his nervousness away from his commander. 

The thick fingers petted at his helm, almost soothing. “I was captured when I was doing this stupid Intel job in Tyger Pax.”

Blast Off’s servos landed on his knees, oddly soft as they nearly pinned them down. Onslaught’s servos moving softly from his cheek to his throat, stroking gently at the tubing there.

“The Autobot’s captured me on my way out, Ironhide grabbed me from behind.”

Onslaught’s little finger caught the wiring to Vortex’s vocal box, lightly pinching it between the smallest digit, the only one that could fit between the grooves and the one next to it, the interrogators words falling instantly silence.

Blast Off pressed a little harder onto the interrogators knees, pinning his legs to the battered berth as Onslaught’s other servo wrapped tightly around his damaged mast, fist tight around the bar that the rotor hub sat on, and his commander twisted it as hard as he could.

Vortex silently screamed as agony burned through his frame, his sensor net singing in pain while his HUD flooding with error messages when lines and sensors were torn out. The interrogator’s audials roared as energon rushed around his frame, and he couldn’t hear anything.

He made no noise as he struggled against Blast Off’s hold, kicking and thrashing as his frame burned. Onslaught leaned down on to his subordinate, pinning him down as his claws bit into the berth he lay on. Twisting the mast the other way, Vortex’s optics whited out as his mouth opened in an eerie silent scream and his plating flared wide as his frame became overly hot, his engine hitching in a pain he did not like, nor did he want.

Then Onslaught pulled the rotor post out, the inner mechanisms yanked out with it. Vortex jerked on the berth, vents heaving as hurt ripped through him, his fans working hard to cool his rapidly heating frame, desperate to expel the heat as his body tried to make sense of the damage.

He continued to scream his silent cry of pain, his vents wheezing, vocaliser crackling with the strain of trying to make noise, and his vision became static. As his body thrashed on the berth, Onslaught dropped the broken mast and its associated pieces to the floor, his massive servo pressing tightly to the gaping hole the damage had left.

The Combaticon commander didn’t move until Vortex stopped trashing, his vents heaving, servos shaking. The usually bright crimson optics were a dull, light pink as the interrogator stared blankly at the wall, heat coming off his frame so rapidly, it caused the thin air above his frame to shimmer.

Blast Off released his team mate’s legs, coming to take a look at the damage as Onslaught re-established the interrogator’s vocaliser. Vortex said nothing as he panted, his processor playing catch up as it tried to comprehend that he was suffering from major energon loss and was _grounded_.

Onslaught’s servo returned to his square helm, thumb making little circles as the copter tried to focus, tried to fight off the shock of having his flight capabilities pulled from his frame; his pain sliding into a vague numbness, energon slicking his back.

“It looks clean.” Blast Off rumbled almost quietly from beside their commander, thick digits prodding at the wound. Vortex didn’t even flinch at the touch, too dazed to focus on anything besides the mind numbing pain already in his back.

It outstripped the pain he felt when he had been slammed into the ground, and where the beasts tore at his belly. Having his rotor mast ripped out, outranked it all on more than one level. All Vortex’s hazy mind could focus on was _I’m trapped on the ground! I’mgrounded! I’mgrounded! I’mgrounded!_  

It caused the rotary to panic, feeling trapped, claustrophobic and vulnerable. He couldn’t fly away any more; he was trapped on the ground! The thought of using his thrusters never occurring to the usually flight capable Decepticon.

“Good.” Onslaught’s muffled voice said from above him; sounding far away and dream like.

A yellow visor tipped back down to him, servos at his back as they closed leaking energon lines and hydraulics. “Focus Vortex.” The commander barked.

Dull optics fought to come back into, and stay in focus while his jaw worked. Voice hoarse, Vortex finally managed to utter a soft word as Onslaught closed the damaged lines in his body. “Ouch.”

Helm tilted as he looked back up at Onslaught, a woozy grin spread over his pinched face. “That hurt Ons.”

The commander snorted, doing his quick patch job, voice low. “You’ll be okay. You won’t be trying to devour us now.”

Vortex snorted, dazed. “Should have eaten Swindle while I had the chance.”

The copter huffed a laugh at his own dumb joke, helm laying back down, weak and dizzy, back to the berth. Helm shaking, he left Vortex to gather himself as he turned to face the rest of his unit. They had to get out of there, before they all died or worse, became one of those _things._

“We’re getting out of here.” Onslaught barked suddenly, drawing the others attention immediately. “We’re going to head straight to the main control hub, get what data has downloaded and getting the hell off this station.”

Blast Off shifted nervously, but did not argue with his commander.

“Blast Off cannot be touched! Do you understand me?”

Swindle snorted as Blast Off nodded, the jeep’s sarcasm was unappreciated. “And I guess the rest of us are nothing then? Just lambs to the slaughter!” Purple optics glared at his commander.

Onslaught snarled, fists curling, knuckles cracking. “Do you want to get off this slag heap?”

Swindle glanced away, shifting nervously. “Yes.” He snapped.

“Then as the only one with flight capability, Blast Off cannot be touched! If he does not have the ability of space travel, none of us get to go home.” Onslaught spat, his EM flaring aggressively.   

Swindle backed down, looking to the side with a pout as Brawl shifted nervously.

“Blast Off, you’ll carry Brawl and Vortex, Swindle, you’ll take point. I’ll make sure nothing gets us from behind.” Onslaught barked. “I don’t want any questions.”

The others looked nervous, shifting. Moaning in pain, Vortex rolled over, agony burning through his frame at the slight movement as he reached out to grasp his commander’s wrist.

Onslaught spun, glowering down at the interrogator, intent to rip into the copter for daring to try to interfere with his plans. But the dozy face that grinned up at him was smug as Vortex held out the old boosters he had found.

The commander blinked down at the glowing liquid, then back to Vortex, whose grin seemed tight with pain. “Then lets even out the odds.” He said weakly, claws flicking uneasily as Onslaught’s servos clenched and unclenched, not liking the idea of Vortex being high at all.

Not at all.

***

The last call for help from the turbo fox before Onslaught had a chance to mow it down, produced more trouble than was foreseen when hoards of dead turbo foxes and their matted skin falling from their frames in thick tufts, charged them the moment they had dared ventured from the relative safety of the quarters.

Onslaught had managed to get his team free of the small room before they were over run, Swindle darting out first, killing the few that had gotten ahead of them. 

Blast off followed behind the jeep, Brawl slung over his wide shoulder, the tank shooting wildly over his following commander’s helm, laser fire disappearing into the writhing mass of bodies. 

Vortex followed the shuttle, abdominal plates shoved back in place roughly, damaged and torn. The interrogator high as a kite, red optics glazed over from the boosters. His coarse cackle raining high over the sound of Onslaught’s Gatling gun, bright energon leaking down Vortex’s back, his rotors abandoned in the decaying room.

The interrogator ducked low, face slack and numb from the boosters, optics unfocused as he shot blindly into the writhing pack.  Onslaught began to back up as the other three ran for the control room, forcing the interrogator back as well.

Their plating brushed and energon oozed from the massive wound in Vortex’s stomach, but the interrogator groaned at the soft touch, nearly rubbing against Onslaught’s back. The boosters heightening his sense of touch while it dulled the pain, making everything feel oh so good.

“Later!” Onslaught barked, forcing Vortex back further from the snapping jaws and snarling maws. “Run you idiot!”

Vortex giggled as he turned and _skipped_ away, his heels thumping along the ground in his merry way. Snarling, knowing that Vortex was too high to realise the danger they were in, knowing that this was a terrible plan and he should have done better, could have done better if he had more time, Onslaught turned and charged the interrogator.

One arm wound around the lithe body, physically lifting him from the ground as he spun to face the turbo foxes again to open fire, shell casings spurting from his gun, the long feed tucked into his subspace with what he hoped was enough bullets. Vortex laughed and giggled the entire time, pedes kicking out like a child’s as Onslaught continued to back down the hallway, bullets spraying the path they left.

Something screamed, latching onto Onslaught’s elbow, needle teeth cutting into the commander’s upper arm, tearing through the plating. Denta gritting, Onslaught kept shooting as pain shot hot up and down his arm, energon and hydraulic fluid pouring from the wound.

The second of the pair lurked from the shadows, optics bright green and low to the ground, waiting for Onslaught to fall, waiting for the easy kill as its mate did the work. The thick arm that held the gun began to weaken, the massive Gatling gun lowering as the sensors were torn and the fluid poured from his arm.

He fought harder, trying to keep his arm up as he held Vortex in the other, backing up. His arm shook and trembled, the cold slime of organic oral fluids slipping under his plating, sharp teeth scrapping at his protoform.

Vortex stopped his endless giggling, fighting through the happy haze of the boosters when he felt the ghost of pain to his own arm, a side effect of the gestalt coding, and knew his commander was taking damage. The long writhing body that had attached itself to the teal plates was a dark shadow, claws curling around the thick arm while hind legs clung at Onslaught’s hip to keep itself attached.

The interrogator managed to snarl, shaking the fog a little as his own claws stretched out across the thick chest plate to latch onto the thrashing beast, and sharp points sinking into the beasts armour, he tore the hunter from Onslaught’s arm and in a single deft move, which surprised the high interrogator, he tore the helm clean from its hunched shoulders. Instantly, its partner dropped, the dead turbo foxes quickly crawling over it, swarming it, as though it nothing to them.

It was only when Onslaught’s arm gave out, the hydraulic fluid no longer flowing through the limb, did he turn and run. The massive Gatling gun clattered to the ground as his servo lost its grip, his arm falling limp at his side.

With an embarrassed snarl, horrified that he was being chased away by organic slag covered mutts, Onslaught ran as hard as he could. The damaged arm dangling uselessly at his side, Vortex tucked under the other. The interrogator managed to turn awkwardly to face the coming enemy, shooting blindly at the swarming shadows, laughing happily.

Onslaught ignored it, tried to ignore the spreading warmth in his arm as the infection spread faster until his fingertips went numb. He fought back the rising panic, replacing it with an angry aggression as the heat spread up to his shoulder. He didn’t think about what would happen if the infection hit his chest, his spark.      

He stepped over fallen bodies of other creatures that either Swindle or Blast Off shot down, ignoring how the organic sludge splashed up his legs, the undead things snapping at his heels.

Relief surged through the Combaticon commander when he finally rounded the corner and spotted the main control room ahead, Blast Off standing in the door way with Swindle, guns up and waiting. Vortex groaned, finally falling limp as the old booster finally gave out, gun falling to the ground.

Onslaught ducked around Blast Off as the shuttle opened fire, spraying the area behind him with laser fire as his commander dipped into the main control room, Swindle right behind him. Blast Off ducked into the room behind Swindle, forcing the door closed, locking it tight as Onslaught dumped Vortex into the chair that the shuttle had sat in whilst downloading data in what now felt so long ago.

The interrogator slumped over the console with a groan, the blue screen blinking _data transfer complete_ at the damaged copter.

Onslaught didn’t have time to feel the first ounce of happiness that something had finally gone right when the shuttle was at his side, servos at his arm.

The commander grunted, jerking his helm towards the damage. “Take the thing.” He snarled, optics drawing away as Blast Off’s own helm dipped in a nod. Deft digits dug beneath his plating, carefully cutting energon lines, hydraulics and wires at his shoulder, ignoring how the plating turned black as the infection spread.

“We can blow through one of the walls without creating a vacuum into space.” Blast Off informed his commander. “It will allow us to get to the takeoff pad without encountering anymore of those beasts.” Dark optics flicked to the locked door that had the very beasts clawing and crying on the other side of it. "They won’t be able to figure out what we did and will be stuck on that side of the door. We shouldn’t have much trouble getting to safety.”

Onslaught nodded as all feeling in his arm fell numb while Blast Off unhooked anything vital, until the odd weight of something heavy stuck to his side. “Good. We can grab the data and get back to Earth.” The commander snapped as he felt the heavy weight being lifted from the joint when Blast Off removed his arm carefully.

The shuttled shifted, as did Swindle when Blast Off dropped the dead limb to the ground, the persistent infection spreading.  “Onslaught.” Blast Off said after a moment, when the large commander took a step to the computer console. “We can’t take that data back to Earth with us.”

The commander froze, jerking to an awkward stop at the shuttle’s words. The loyalty patch clawing at his spark, demanding obedience; they had been _told to bring the data back!_

Blast Off seemed to be having trouble with his coding too as his frame shuddered, knees trembling as he forced the words out. “Earth if full of organic slag. Imagine what that creep will do with this information and that much testing material.”

Blast Off swallowed the bitter feeling of wanting to purge his tanks as the loyalty program revolted, sending the uncomfortable feeling throughout the unit.

“We have orders!” Onslaught hissed, single fist balling, fighting down the urge to punch the shuttle in the face, bring him to heel, not wanting to admit he knew Blast Off was right.

“We nearly died here!” Blast Off snapped back, his cool demeanour melting in light of the decision before them. “We’ve been here five hours and look at yourself Onslaught. It’s disgusting! We were unprepared and we nearly died. And now you want to bring this slag back to Earth!”

Blast Off dropped to his knees, servos clamped to his helm as the loyalty program forced him there, jaw clamping shut. When the shuttle could unlock his jaw, he managed to utter weakly, causing Brawl to shift uncomfortably from his spot on the console and Swindle to suddenly become overly interested in his pedes. “Imagine what this will be like on Earth? We’ll all fragging die.”

Onslaught knew the shuttle was right. Knew that the information in Shockwave’s servos would only lead to certain death for all on the planet, and Onslaught did not want to die. But the loyalty program fought him, forced logic away as it happily reminded him, them all, that they were under orders to bring it back home with them.

It was only when Vortex managed to weakly raise his helm, optics dim again and fading nearly to white, did the Combaticons have a sliver of hope. “We were screwed over. Shockwave knew these things had gotten out and didn’t bother to tell us. They’ll get out on Earth too, and kill us all.” The copter panted, a sly grin spreading on his scarred face.

If anyone could manipulate the loyalty program, it would be Vortex. Panting hard, the interrogator grinned further. “If we bring that data back to Earth, Megatron’s life will be in danger. And it would be our fault.”

The loyalty program shifted abruptly, and suddenly orders no longer mattered, protecting their master now their priority. However a small part that clung to the need to follow orders tingled through them.

“These things got out here, and they will get out on Earth. We need to,” the interrogator paused, swallowing as he forced himself to keep talking, forced himself to believe the lie. “We need to protect Megatron, even if that means leaving the data behind.”

It was a lie, and a thinly veiled one at that. They knew they did it for themselves. They did it to protect themselves from the very real threat this data presented. But it had nearly killed them in the middle of space and Onslaught didn’t dare think of what it would do on Earth, a planet _full_ of organics. He didn’t dare consider the damage it would do, didn’t dare work out the percentages and math; in the end it only meant one thing for everyone, and everything. Death.

They bought into the lie, that they were doing it _for_ Megatron, and that was enough to quell the loyalty programming since they were doing this for the protection of their master.

However, in the deepest part of their sparks, the small place that still revolted, they cursed Megatron as much as Shockwave for this. They would pay for this as well, one day, when the shackles of the loyalty program no longer bound them. One day, they would see to it they both paid.

At least, that was what Onslaught thought as he dumped Vortex into a seat in Blast Off’s alt mode, buckling the interrogator in, ensuring he was still trapped in stasis. Swindle secured Brawl in his own seat, all of them covered in organic sludge and goo, none but Blast Off still whole.

As the shuttled pulled away from the doomed station, Onslaught forced himself to settle in his seat, ignoring the throbbing in his helm and the phantom pain where his arm had once been. He didn’t bother to watch the space station explode far behind them, sending the horrors there, along with the data with it to the deepest wells of the pit.

It wasn’t until the bright light faded back to the cold dark nothing of space, did Onslaught finally succumb to recharge and black out.

***

Shifting uncomfortably on the med bay berth, Onslaught stretched out over the hard surface as he leaned against the wall, carefully watching his team in different states of repair and rest; all wounds cleaned out and it was just a matter of time before Hook replaced what had been lost.

Swindle still lay wrapped around Brawl, their smaller, remaining, legs twinned tightly together, arms wrapped around each other as they recharged. The tank was still missing a leg but there was no sign of infection.

An energon line was hooked directly into Blast Off’s arm as the shuttle recharged, the shuttle curled into a tight ball, dead to everything around him, so exhausted from the straight, hard flight from the space station.

Vortex tried to recharge across from his gestalt commander, but every now and then the copter would shudder as though fresh coolant had been poured into his lines, and he would reach back to pet at his missing rotors. Every time the interrogator would realise he was missing his rotors, he would jerk as though startled, helm peeking over his shoulder to make sure they were in fact missing. Vortex would then scowl at his missing appendage before roughly turning back over to try to recharge. Only for the cycle to begin anew.

As for himself, Onslaught just felt tired, worn out in the worst way. They had nearly died and had nothing to show for their troubles. Although Megatron was not furious at them, he still was not happy and it had taken every ounce of will to not drop to his knees and grovel, beg for forgiveness. Instead he forced himself to believe the lie that Vortex had so carefully crafted.

Part of him couldn’t quite believe that Megatron had bought it. He had lied to Shockwave, told the scientist that his data had been lost when the creatures had taken over the space station. The data lost forever; it was, thankfully, something the purple mech had seen as a logical explanation, given the nature of the monsters he had left back there.

“A pity,” Shockwave shrugged. “That you were unable to retrieve the data. Those creatures would have been so wonderful to use here on Earth. So many wonderful organics to use.”                 

Onslaught’s plating crawled. Stupid mono-opticed fragger.

Rage swelled within the commander at the thought of Shockwave. If there was one mech Onslaught hated more than Megatron, it was Shockwave. When asked why they were not told of the creatures, Shockwave had simply shrugged, saying how ‘as Combaticons, it should not have been _this_ much of an issue.’

Wonderful! Not only did they return empty handed, broken, beaten and bruised, they were the laughing stock of the ship. Apparently the Combaticons weren’t capable of stopping a handful of organic hybrids.

It made Onslaught hate them all the more. Made him vow that one day, their fellow Decepticons would get their comeuppance. Until then, Onslaught would believe in the lie, and keep on optic on Shockwave. He didn’t trust the fragger and someone needed to protect Megatron from the silent threat the scientist presented.    

It was a very pretty lie, but through the cracks of it all, Onslaught would make sure what happened on the space station didn’t happen on Earth. They’d never make it off the planet if it did.

Heaving a sigh, Onslaught lay down and forced himself into recharge.

***

Far below the med bay, in the deepest bowels of the _Nemesis_ , a large black creature howled into the silent slime covered room. Its metal claws ripped at the reinforced walls of the sunken space ship, its organic pelt already flaking off his metal frame in massive chunks, cold drool falling fatly to the ground in heavy drops around massive tusks.

It howled again, relishing when something called back.


End file.
